At just over a year old, Brady, a happy chap arrived with an overnight bag full of toys. Trundling out of his basket the spotted, tabby Pixie Bob, set about a thorough inspection of his new space. When he chanced upon a couple of foil balls that had fallen out of his bag he immediately batted them between his paws, tossed them in the air and chased them around the front room. It's not long before Brady is following me from room to room appearing magically at my feet as I'm about to sit on the loo or open the fridge door. When he is not playing or taring around the front room he likes to spend time on the balcony, chasing flies or bits of fluff. Occasionally he will skid sideways into a room as though he’s been pushed and looking rather surprised, come to a halt in front of me.
Occasionally I pick Brady up and carry him around the apartment from window to window while he hangs upside down, his head flopped over my elbow enjoying the view. At night he follows me to bed and stays with me a few minutes before wandering away and into another adventure. At 5am I wake and call him. Appearing in the doorway and silently hopping onto the bed he marches over the length of my body, head butting me gently before settling beside me for a post sleep snooze.
On his final day he dives beneath the sofa, his front end vanishing into the darkness while his tailless bottom wiggles with excitement. A few minutes pass when he pulls himself out, landing with a thump sitting upright on the rug. In his mouth is a crinkly foil ball which he carries around around between his teeth for a while before dropping it to the floor and chasing it around the room.