Ozzy

Oska was my cat for 14 years. He was born in a shed at the bottom of a garden behind the house of my school dinner lady, Marge. Marge already had many cats and didn't have space for another, so we adopted him.

As a kitten he was very badly behaved and often stupid. He did not understand that glass doors were still solid objects and had a love of chewing through fairy lights at Christmas.

Oska has inspired many artworks of mine including a typographic series entitled "Affection for food" and many photographic works. Here are some of the finer examples:







I have many fond memories of Ozzy... He used to chase the neighbours' dog, he enjoyed drinking from the bathroom tap, he attacked your ankles if you lingered too long on the bottom step of the stairs...

Although he had avoided death once before, Ozzy's colourful life was cut short by cancer of the stomach - a cruel blow for an animal that had so enjoyed his food. As a younger cat he was shot three times with an air rifle (we reckon it was our crazy next-door neighbour)and not only survived, but carried on with the pellets in his bum. He was indeed the 'Fiddy Cent' of the cat world.

He will never be forgotten, not only because I'll have the cat-scratch scars to remember him by, but because he was GREAT.