Dylan Thomas was mental.

I mean seriously, he reads like a drunk horse.

I fucking love it.

Stay shining tiny dancer.

Today I found out one of my greatest animal friends I’ve ever had been hit by a car. Hit and run. Bastards. It’s the worst way to lose a cat, I lost my little kitten ‘Tink’ the same way and you just feel as if they’ve been cheated in the worst way possible.

But here’s to Izzy, he won’t get an obituary in The Guardian, so this’ll be as good as it gets.

Izzy Mark Marshall was born at some point in 2004 to a litter of fantastically fluffy black and white kittens Izzy set high standards in personal preening from a young age, always priding himself on his amazingly straight tail and particularly jooshy bit behind his ears. The look was born. Izzy had his style sorted, it was time to find someone who he could moosh off and live for free with. He chose a mister Scott Marshall.

Izzy was a travelling cat, priding himself on the fact he’d lived in 3 cities (London, Wolverhampton and the cultural hub of Coventry). And it was this experience as a wonderer which stood him in such good stead when it came to forging friendships and allegiances. Personally I met Izzy around a year and a half ago, he’d just arrived from Coventry and had the attitude to match but he soon won me over with his massive panda face and little teddy bear like fluff.

Izzy and I became best friends over the last year, he’d always listen to me whenever I was a little bit down, and he never turned down a good hug offer when one was going. He also loved having his picture taken as often as possible and wearing coats when it got cold in the winter.

So here’s to you Izzy; stay chasing those mice up in cat heaven you beautiful dreamer.

Izzy 2004-2007

And on the 6th day.

He decided University was good. Hella good.