You might have noticed a distinct quietness in the Dust Lounge during the launch of Grind Spark on Halloween.

No blog posts, no buy my book tweeting, no general fanfare.

Not even anything about what creepy books y’all reading, or what films you were curling up under a blanket to watch.

Nothing.

And it’s because of the Beast.

I didn’t want to be writing this post, and it’s taken me a week to be able to sit at the keyboard and type without bursting into tears. Dirty, snotty tears.

Because in the early hours of Halloween’s morning, after a day in which the Beast had suffered a series of fits we made the difficult decision to put her down.

The Beast was an old cat, she’d had a good innings, and in my heart of hearts I knew it would be coming sooner rather than later. But I’d been hoping for a quieter exit for her. A ‘just-don’t-wake-up-one-day’ kind of thing. Not a violent seizure type of thing.

And it was horrible.

And goddamnit I’m crying again.

And even though it was a week ago, the fact that she’s not pestering for food, or insisting on cuddles, or tearing up the side of the sofa, has left a massive hole in our house. I still find myself midway through wondering where she is, halfway through calling her down for her breakfast, expecting her to be lying on my feet when I wake up in the morning.

And I was hoping to maybe be able to write something a bit more witty, a bit more fun, but actually all there is to write is that I miss her.

Her real name was Pixel (named after the cat in Robert A Heinlein’s The Cat Who Walks Through Walls). She’d lived with us since she was a kitten back in 2004. She was a part of our family.

So here’s to you, Pixel – you grumpy, loveable, fiendish cat.

You were more than just a cat to us.