Fiona

To be honest, I always thought Fiona would have made a beautiful girl's name. I think we both did.

But then it's just as well. It did not go to waste. Now and for the rest of my days, I will forever associate that name not only with my favourite singer, but with my little Black Beauty. My little Fiona Cat. My little Fionakis.

For the longest time, I wasn't exactly sure what to write about her. Every cat that I've had the pleasure of knowing has come with a very particular personality. It just takes time to figure it out; to discover those special little things that make you slowly fall for them, until that day you realize things just feel a little emptier when they're no longer around. Before that day comes they're just cute kittens: playful, persistent and often intolerable. Cute kittens all kind of look the and act the same. Kind of like kids before they learn how to talk.

I can't pinpoint the exact moment Fiona won me over. You never can, you know. But ever since I've been away from her, I miss her pudgy little miniature body. I miss the way she always greets me at the door. The way she always waits for Pepe at the window by the couch, screams when he's arrived and then pounces on him demanding a giant bear hug the second he gets in. I'll miss her impossibly soft coat. Her slipper soft personality. The feel of her sandpaper tongue against my fingernails. Her insufferable attraction to the mouse pointer projected on the television. And the casual way she almost always comes around whenever I put my feet up on the couch to find the most comfortable way to sit on my crotch. A calming closeness - this is at the heart of our symbiotic connection.

Some cats punish you with the cold shoulder for skipping out on them. Not Fiona. Fiona's got a heart of gold. She always comes around, no matter how many days it's been. On days I do get to see her now it's like I never left. And she'll probably still come around when those days become weeks and those weeks become months. She'll probably get a little heavier. She might lose that innocent gleam in her eye. She might even become skeptical and have to eye me over with her jet black goatee,  if only for a confused second. But then she'll smell me and I'll be forgiven. I'm pretty sure of that.

And in that way, I guess things will always remain simple between us. No hard feelings. No regrets. No quiet, awkward disappointment. We will always be tattooed to each other in this special way, until the day she is only tattooed to me. The same way Pepe is. The same way Tigger will always be.

There will always be another day to chill, Fiona. I promise.