Farewell to a good friend.

I hope to have some good news soon, but right now it's a bit sad.
Crusty (correct spelling), the much loved long serving member of the MPA Met Office, has passed away.
He had been going down hill quite rapidly in the last couple of weeks, and in the last week seemed to loose some of the use of his back legs. The guys booked him into the vet on Thursday and on Wednesday night he had a seizure.
I was on nights so found out later that he had been put to sleep at the vets, we think he was suffering from kidney failure, possibly as a result of drinking from puddles contaminated with de-icing agent.
He had been with the office for around 18 years, making him somewhere in the region of 90 years old in human terms, after being found with his brother, Boddington, huddling in the office doorway. Boddington was adopted by air traffic and Crusty adopted the office, deciding that we were his best bet for copious amounts of food and warm places to sleep.
He gained his name after the move to neuter all cats on base resulted in 20 odd cats being taken to the dog section to see the visiting vet, where a combination noise of cats screaming, dogs barking and people swearing mixed with the smell of 20 cats relieving themselves all over the people carrying them. His scab didn't exactly heal cleanly, which is why he wasn't called "Cleanly healing wound."
Over the best part of two decades he became a much loved and respected member of the office, indeed many aircrew would look to see where he was sleeping, and base their view of the weather on this, surprisingly accurate, measure. By the heaters - it'll be cold, in his hut - it'll rain, in the open begging for food - you've got food haven't you? and it'll be mainly fine.
We buried him in the old enclosure and held a short goodbye with a flypast by the F3 guys, with a wake later that day, remembering him as friends should. For me his greatest moment was greeting the new boss by peeing on his corporate logo'd laptop bag. Take that branding team!
Of his preferred sleeping spots, the light-box (which we convinced certain aircrew was a sunbed for his arthritis), the printer (above the sign "cats are not to sleep on this printer!") and the gaps around the laptop all seem too empty and we all still look for him when we return from lunch. His plaintive mews for extra food are a silence that cuts into the day and his inquisitive manner when we try to draw up our charts will be sorely missed.
Good hunting little friend, may there always be beef and tuna, and a soft warm spot in which to rest.