My companion – my friend – Louie died suddenly on Tuesday. He was nine (his tenth birthday was due next month) which, in cat years, made him middle-aged. No one saw it coming – he’d had his six-monthly check-up a few weeks ago and was seemingly fit and well. If you don’t have a pet, you can’t fully appreciate the depth of the bond and the corresponding rawness of the grief.

Louie has been my constant companion, especially since I divorced and moved into my own flat six years ago. Living alone, I regarded Louie – formal pedigree name Albalou Bojangles, a British shorthair – as my closest friend, in the sense that I saw more of him (it seems bizarre to be writing in the past tense about him) than anyone else. He was there throughout Covid, when I was shielding, and through treatment for my leukaemia. My whole flat is a reminder of his presence with scratch pads, toys, cat furniture, and all........

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