Mouse was a cat with opinions, a soft spot for his Mom, and — it turned out — a diary. Starting in 2001 he began writing down the small news of the household: who was napping where, which furrson was in trouble, what the other cats and dogs were up to, and how much he loved his family.
He wrote the way he lived — warmly, a little mischievously, and always signing off the same way: Love, Mouse. Spelling was never his strong suit, and we have kept every word exactly as he left it. The typos are part of him.
Mouse is gone now, but his diary isn't. This site gathers his entries in one place, alongside the poems and reflections the family kept close over the years. It is here as a living memorial — the old pages preserved just as he left them, with room for new ones, still in his voice, as they come.