1 day ago
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My animals play a big, crazy role in my life. I grew up with cats when I was a little kid but my love of black cats began when I moved from New York to LA in 1996 and found four feral black cats in my back yard. Almost immediately, two female cats got knocked up and had two litters at the same time. Suddenly, we had 13 black cats, the most I’d ever cared for at once.
I’ve been an artist all my life and during the early 2000s my career really started to take off. I began creating a lot of merchandise toys and had my own TV series called Teacher’s Pet, which won five Emmys and a Bafta. My cat Blackie was the inspiration behind all my artwork at the time; he was a scholarly cat with a giant purr – I often drew him as my alter ego. When Blackie died from illness in 2020, I felt as though I’d lost a part of myself – he had been my companion for 15 years. It took me a year to grieve before I could finally consider another cat. That’s when Bosko came into my life.
In 2021, a fan of mine was fostering three black kittens she was looking to give away. We scheduled a visit and I had an instant connection with one cat in particular, so I brought him home. I think his name was Inkwell or Inkpot at the time but I decided to name him Bosko after the American brand of chocolate syrup (Bosco) that had a childhood nostalgia.
Bosko was a playful cat, who had so much youth and energy and a tiny purr. The most peculiar thing about him was his athletic ability. Everywhere and anywhere he would leap up into the air and dart across the room, landing on my shoulders. He could jump up to 7ft in the air – it looked as if he was flying. I always knew when he was about to do it because he would stare at me intensely before launching himself towards the ceiling. He was like an athlete, agile and adventurous.
My cats are my muses, they inspire narratives that help me understand the world and live a vibrant and fulfilling life. Before I had Bosko, my art was focused on grief and remembrance, particularly of my late parents who were Holocaust survivors. Bosko ignited the feeling of being alive again. His energy infused a lust for life and the thrill of play into my artwork. I drew him drinking a bottle of chocolate syrup like it was soda, or comedic sketches about his missing white whisker. We’d take selfies together, with him perched on top of my head; videos of his acrobatics garnered a mass following online.
In January 2024, I came home from my sunrise hike and found Bosko lying lifeless on my bed. I ran outside, hysterically carrying his limp body in my arms. My neighbour drove me to a vet in Beverly Hills. I was desperately giving him mouth-to-mouth in the car. The vets did everything they could to revive him but nothing worked. He was gone. I sat in the back room cradling his body, completely overcome by shock. I wanted to savour the last moments we had together; I could have stayed there for eternity.
Since then, I’ve adopted two more black cats, but I will always remember Bosko as the world’s greatest flying cat, who gave my creativity a new lease of life.
As told to Sinéad Campbell
English (US) ·