Never really gone. Lorraine Smith

Before I married I had a beautiful cat called Poppy.  I met my husband at work, and she tolerated him and our two children as they came along. She loved to sleep on the top bunk in their bedroom. She died aged 16 in May 1998.  After that we would still hear the familiar dull thud from upstairs as she jumped from the top bunk . Sometimes the lounge door would open too, as if she was strolling in. My father died in September that same year and we never heard those noises again. We think she waited for Dad.