My wife and I returned from a club last night to find that the cat didn't want to come inside. Even though we shook a packet of its favourite food at both front and back door, it wouldn't show itself.

We were worried and decided to walk around the house, Sharon starting at the back, me out front. The side-gate was locked and I called out for Shaz to come and unlock it from the other side. As she approached the gate she tripped on something large, black and inert, lying across the path. She screamed -- it was Loki, and she wasn't moving.

It didn't take a team of doctors to conclude that Loki was beyond help. She wasn't breathing, moving, responding. We used a torch to look for injuries but found nothing. She looked just like herself, but she was gone. As they say in the cliches, she looked very peaceful.

I've dug a deep hole in the backyard where we're going to bury her. (Contrary to my father's request for a Loki hat).

We'll miss you Loki. You left your pawprints on our heart. We trust you've found a sunny spot in which to lie.