He was afraid of everyone else, so nobody got to see what we saw. George was forever a kitten, both in looks and his small size and his playfulness. He loved jumping at shadows on the wall. He loved being spun in circles on the linoleum floor. He loved his strings – he had 7 in total, and he always left at least one in every room of the house. When he really wanted to play he would bring one of them to our feet and meow. He loved being picked up and then put back down, and then picked up again. He was so gentle. Even when we had to force pills down his throat he never bit or scratched. He knew when we were sick or sad and he would try to comfort us. He never wanted us to leave the house. When we started moving towards the door he would flop down in front of us like a furry little roadblock. Six years was way too short to have the best cat in the world. But at least we got to have him.