McWhiskers

Professor McWhiskers, named during a moment of exhaustion while grading first-year essays. I never anticipated the impact he would have. He disrupted virtual classes by sitting directly in view of the camera, often becoming more popular with students than the course material itself. He once accidentally deleted three pages of my thesis by walking across the keyboard. I forgave him immediately. He was a creature of habit and refinement. He preferred drinking water from a crystal glass rather than his bowl. He routinely perched himself on the windowsill between 4 and 5 p.m., observing the world with the same detached curiosity I imagined scholars of ancient philosophy once had. When I lost my father unexpectedly, McWhiskers remained at my side for days, silently pressing his weight into my chest. Over sixteen years, he was a constant, through heartbreak, career changes and endless late-night writing sessions. His decline was gradual. Kidney failure. He tolerated treatment like a gentleman, never flinching when I administered fluids. But he grew tired. I made the decision when it was clear he was suffering. He passed in the library, on his favourite stack of books. I left them exactly as they were. McWhiskers wasn’t just a pet. He was a companion in every intellectual and emotional sense.