We found Twister in the garden when I was thirteen. He was a stray, shy as anything, and he immediately hid under the cottage that sits in the corner of our property. Despite that, it was love at first shake-of-the-cat-food box.

Twister was always, in essence, my cat. He slept in my bedroom, sometimes on the bed and sometimes on the floor next to it. He would meow hello to me when he came into the room, and begin purring as soon as he saw me. He used to follow me about the house, much as a dog might, just quietly keeping me company. I was a sickly teenager, still am, and spent most of my time at home, working through correspondence, so he was my only company. That was why he was so special, I suppose.

He was perhaps two years old when we got him, not an old cat, but he was perpetually lazy. He would lay on the floor to eat out of his bowl, and laze around all day, in the manner that cats like to. He wasn't the brightest crayon in the box. It took him about three months to work out the cat door, and he was always afraid of old people, especially my granddad, but these qualities were endearing.

You could say Twister was grey, but the truth is that he was much more striking than just plain grey. His fur was long and silky-soft, and never got tangled. He had the brightest green eyes, and a black face with black tabby markings. His chest and belly were white, and he had darker paws and tail. Over the summer he would get the stray tan coloured hair on his back and shoulders. That was how he got his name -- for his blend of colours.

He was the best cat you could ever ask for. Unfortunately, he was only with us for two years.

Four years ago now, on a warm December night a couple of weeks before Christmas, Twister went missing. He never came back. We searched high and low, calling his name, and went all around the neighbourhood searching for him, but we found not hide nor hair of my beloved cat. We later found out that our neighbours had had a party that night, and four months later we were told by the same neighbours that the next people along had found a dead cat under their porch and buried it.

I was devastated. For the whole four months I thought Twister was still alive, and I hoped and prayed every single day that he would come home so I could just have my best friend back. The people who found him hadn't even been around to see whose cat he was -- we had to find out word of mouth, and as a result I never really got any real closure. I never got to truly say goodbye to my beloved Twist.

I remember you every day Twister, and many nights in my dreams. I still remember your quiet purr, your watery "mrow!" when you came into the room and that musty, honey-sweet smell you got from sleeping in the cupboard on those cooler days. I miss you always.

Rest in peace, my beloved.