Oliver was a swell cat. You might even say he was a SWOLLEN cat.

He loved his little catnip toys. In fact, two completely disappeared.
And he loved reclining on the cat chair and lookin out the window. That was his job.
He talked, he barked at birds, purred like a badly-out-of-tune Buick... and he and I played peekaboo.

He also bit his toenails. Looked like he was wearing an orange-red tuxedo that was just a LITTLE too small. He was getting better about covering things up in the 'box. I had given up trying to break him of drinking out of the bathtub faucet.

He loved sniffing plastic bags. He rushed to me when I would whistle for him. He'd also look mesmerized, and would come sniffing at me when I whistled. At night I could whistle once, maybe twice, and he'd hustle up to the bed in one big, inelegant jump, making a little question-mark purr/meow sound when he landed/thudded.

He rocked.

He had ONE black whisker growing out of the left side of his little nose, er, snout, I guess. I meant to clip it and save it. But. In the upheaval of the events of the day, it did understandably slip my mind.

Geen bear was only mildly and occasionally annoying.
There was that little trick of putting his cold slimy nose RIGHT on your forearm when you were trying to concentrate on something.

I'd give a lot to have him annoy me again.

He was my friend.