I was going to post more about my Paris adventure, my birthday week, my two previous weekends (Puzzlewood, Brave, Skyfall, Westonbirt Arboretum) but then today I got the news that my sister's cat, Dillon, died today. With no warning. I just saw him this weekend. He was eight years old, a beautiful ginger Maine Coone with a huge fluffy tail and big gentle paws that never scratched when he played with you. She'd only had him for 9 months. She woke up this morning for her early shift and discovered him lying in the doorway of the spare room of her flat. His body was still warm but he was gone. They've buried him in the long grass at the bottom of the hill outside her flat. I can't believe he's gone and I can't believe that once again my sister has lost a pet. None of my sister's pets have died of old age. She's had two hamsters, two cats and a rabbit: all of them have died because of accident or through injury. None of them were over five years old. I didn't even live with him but I'm going to miss him so much.