You know that you love someone when you seriously consider kidnapping them

I've never been good at farewells. I tend to oscillate between grand pantomimes and awkward shuffle-your-feet-and-look-down moments... It's like my Appropriate Response Scale has been incorrectly calibrated since that time I fell out of the pram and into the gutter as a newborn. 

So it was with great trepidation that I approached the end of my tempestuous love affair with Sebastian. Handsome, red-haired and grizzled, he captured my heart from the moment I caught him creeping around my kitchen. I knew it was wrong - he belonged to someone else - but I just couldn't resist him. What started as a casual thing soon developed into a passionate, and sometimes playfully violent relationship. He would stay for days on end. I would buy him dinner. And through all the midnight visits and despite the occasional spat, an enduring bond developed. And then came the day to say goodbye.

The last few weeks I had been a wreck, anxiously awaiting his call, fearing that every cuddle might be the last. Despite my excitement about the new apartment, I lingered in the old house, tasting all those happy memories and wishing he would leave his family. I even considered kidnap, but I just couldn't rob him of his independence. He would hate it in the city. 

As with all goodbyes, it just didn't feel real. We embraced, and then... he was a pale shadow in the night. Thats it. Fin.

Of course, I could just get another cat. But Sebastian was wild, a happy accident that stumbled into our home and shedded hairs onto every aspect of our existence. Perhaps, one day, we'll see each other again, and I can say a better goodbye.