Behold that I write to you with mine own hand that you may know my verity. The King is dead; he has no heirs.
Sunday morning, Chaos suffered what appeared to be a stroke (or series of small strokes) and, by that evening, was gone.
It is impossible for me to explain the significance or devistation of this loss. For 17 years, he had been my constant companion, sleeping next to me in bed and sitting in my lap as I wrote. He was with me before, during, and after my physical collapse and, in the process, became the perfectly trained companion animal. Now he is gone.
He outlived the two proteges he trained and leaves me with an empty office. I must admit, I frankly don't know what I'll do now. Without the cat (pet, friend, confidant, side-kick, and partner) to manage it, maybe I'll stop. (Unlike my optimistic feline, I doubt it's read on a regular basis and I don't really think I have anything worth saying anyhow.) I'll have to think it through. Right now, I just don't know.
He already scheduled the rest of the discussion of the soul to automatically post itself and I'll let that run while I think. He'd have wanted it that way.