R.I.P.

    Well, I just got done burying my cat, Boris. He was nineteen and a half. Our neighbor's father made a nice box for him and the girls drew all over it. He's been in all of our houses. He did tricks and he knew some phrases. My favorite one that I could tell him was "fuck off", and he would. Didn't have to say it any louder than anything else or wave my arm or nothing. He would just turn around and walk out of the room. Before he went deaf, you could whisper his name in the middle of the night and wherever he was, he would come to see you. Boris was a great cat, he was my little pal, and I will miss the shit out of him.

Last pic of my pal, Boris.

(yes, he was alive in that picture)