My magical black cat, Thistle, entered the next world last night. He was 18. A wonderful pet, he was my companion, friend, talisman, nemesis and avatar. He would sit in my lap for hours and tell me stories with his eyes. He believed that people were another form of cat and made new friends instantly with visitors.

Easy to train, affectionate and playful, he knew his name and had the run of the house. Oddly, he showed no interest for a fire in the fireplace, nor in anything on the TV. He never climbed into boxes or bags, and the Christmas tree was always safe. Bugs on the carpet got a free pass every time.

The house is quiet now and I miss him terribly. He had a sharp voice and a purr like a freight train. Even unseen, he was always a presence; you could feel him in the house. There have been several other cats in my life and I have loved every one. This one was special. The highest praise I can give the little guy is that he was -- in all ways -- a Very Good Cat.