Close-up of my late cat Fian. He’s been gone for five years now, and I still mention him at least once every day. It’d be my luck that the first cat I had accepted me only begrudgingly until he became an old man. He’d be more likely to greet me with a hiss than a meow, but I loved him, anyway.
Notice how large Big Boy looks compared to my husband’s feet. I wish I was brave enough to try photographing Big Boy with my Nikon. Then my neighbors who own him might think I’m stalking their cat. Is wanting to behold such feline glory one more time a form of stalking? If so, it’s a benign form of it.