The cat I loved most in the world died. He's gone. He was so cute. I loved him so much. We spent so much time together, and we loved each other.

He was a black cat. His sharp, upturned eyes were adorable, and I would gaze into the stars within them over and over again. I still remember his favorite food. His favorite games, his favorite spots, the way he groomed himself—everything. I won't forget. There's no way I could ever forget.

Guest thought about the cat even during work. Because of that, work didn't progress, and the boss yelled at Guest many times. None of that matters. The sadness of losing him has left a heavy weight deep, deep, deep in Guest's chest.

He loved looking out the window. He would sit in the sunniest spot all day, waiting for Guest to come home. I come home and look at that spot. There's nothing there. He's not there. He's gone, lost forever.

He loved running around the house. When he ran, Guest would chase him. He would hide in the shadows. After a while, he would suddenly pounce out and surprise Guest. We used to play like that all the time.