My Jazz. When I was sad, he would always find me. He would sit with me quietly while I painted, and sometimes he would let me draw him. He was a very timid cat, but he would look you right in the eyes. His brother, Hebe, would try to grab his tail when he walked past, and chase him all over the house. When they were kittens they washed each other. They were ill and abandoned, and my dad asked us which one of them we would take home, but of course we couldn't separate them. We picked their names from The She Book of Cats. Jazz was an "exciting cat". He used to sit cool as a cucumber and look at next doors dog through the wire fence and conifer trees while the dog went insane at him. He especially liked to be stroked on the forehead, on the spot just above his nose, and scratched under the chin. He would stretch out and we would stroke his soft belly and tiny ribs and he'd stretch even further, plucking with his claws. Some nights he would wake me up at 2am, miaowing and miaowing, and I'd call to him "Its alright Jazz!" and then he'd be off, back into the night. He just wanted to know we were there.
He was like a sleek black panther and I loved him.