SPINNING THE TRUTH

THE PEN IS MIGHTIER THAN THE SWORD.
(Or in this case the keyboard is)


Throughout the centuries mankind has always had a need to communicate. So many ways of doing so have, throughout these periods of time, changed considerably as technology improved the equipment and methods of communication.

A good example is as follows.......

Roman writing tablet.

This preceded what centuries later, the renowned bard William Shakespeare used to produce his literary masterpieces........

During the 20th Century the implements for writing had undergone more than just subtle changes. Pen and ink were the means of putting things down and like the printing press was able to do in the times of King James the 1st, they made it possible for people to read simply for enjoyment, as well as for information.

Along with the graphite pencil, it was the two items shown as follows that became the norm for putting things down in writing. Many variations of the nibbed pen and ball point were available and were widely in use.

The nibbed fountain pen and..........

 ...........The ball point pen.

The common lead pencil.

Much of my correspondence was by courtesy of the pen and biro as we called it. Many years later I bit the bullet and purchased a typewriter, which I thought would also enable me to put down in writing all my memoirs...........

However, it was not until my good wife Gabi and I were conned into entering the computer age by my son and heir Patrick, that the urge to bore folk to death with dodgy tales from antiquity became almost an obsession with me. The person mainly responsible for this sadistic desire to inflict parts of ones past life upon an unsuspecting public, happened to be Aussie expat Clive James, whose 'Unreliable Memoirs' had me in stitches. So many of  Clive's experiences in Kogarah were identical to my own in Annandale. So you can blame him if you wish.

Although never intending to match the descriptive ability and the way Mr. James has with words, I nevertheless believed if he could entertain readers by informing them of his early and later years, so could I. So many of his misadventures and activities throughout his early years almost completely mirrored my own, so I bit the bullet and decided to put in writing as much as I could recall, before the slowly but surely dimming memories were erased by time.
 
My problem was where does one start to record a past sinful life that contained so many ups and downs, so many disappointments, but most thankfully so many wonderful and emotional moments responsible for leaving me with nothing but fondness and gratitude for what went down all those years ago. Crystal clear recollections of the many wonderful friendships made and time spent with people who were so very dear and special to me.

Why was it the sun, sand and surf that literally became a part of me for virtually the whole of my life. You could say I was the kind of person who simply enjoyed contributing to society and serving my fellow man. You could, but lets be honest, there were many other reasons that helped me make my decision to dedicate a major portion of my life to Surf Lifesaving.......here are just four....

Never in my wildest dreams as a young mischieveous little bugger roaming the streets of Annandale looking for wreck to wreak, did it ever occur to me that one day I would be performing a public service as a volunteer and loving it. I never imagined the feelings of contentment, satisfaction and exhilaration that one day would be experienced after making a commitment to all things surf and beach related. Throughout the 1960's it was all beer and skittles and at times there was even the possibility that one may even self destruct, but there was a public service to be provided and this kept things on an even keel. During those first thirteen years as a volunteer surf lifesaver I must have participated in over 200 rescues and what later on were known as Preventative Actions. For most of my patrols I happened to be the beltman and I know for a fact that at least 8 to 10 people would not be here today if my beach patrol had not been capable of providing the vigilance and service expected of them.
The thought never crossed my mind that one day, despite the company of and the attention of many attractive young ladies, that one particular young lady would enter my life and do more than just turn my head. I ended up going the way of so many clubbies and was content to begin a new life as a married man and later on as a parent.
                                                        



Patrick and Snoopy.

   As I type, I've even made it as a grandparent. 




Renae and Sarah.

One thing I missed was all that eye candy sprawled upon the sands, but there were occasions when having a good sort for a missus more than made up for it, as these two photos from the past clearly indicate.

Photo No. 1 is Gabi, age 21.

 

 

Nine years later, one year after having Patrick

Gabi showing off her assets.

 

Shortly after meeting Gabi, I was introduced to her best friend Lesley. The two girls were the closest of friends long before I appeared on the horizon. One of Lesley's friends was the gorgeous Flo, who in a short space of time took her place alongside Lesley as Gabi's favourite.
Lesley was a beautiful girl whose main feature was her long light brown hair that was always worn down over the shoulders reaching her breasts. She was slim without being skinny and quite often turned male heads when out and about.
Flo was tallish with an eye for fashion and could be described as a clothes horse. She was one of those girls who could wear a hessian bag and make it look as though it was a design garment made specifically for her. Her main feature were her long legs along with the most gorgeous well rounded butt simply asking to be spanked. 
As can be seen in the preceding photos, Gabi's main feature were her awe inspiring breasts and a rear end similar to Flo's.
  
For many years Lesley, Flo and their husbands Doug and Peter, along with Gabi and I became a sextet whose main concern was to simply have a good time.
We more than accomplished that.

Gabi and Flo flashing flesh.
 

The previous shot was what occurred on a regular basis behind the garage at Mortdale. The girls of course were big showoffs and quite often attracted the attention of our next door neighbours Paul and Roger.
What a pity Gabi's other best friend Lesley never brought her bikini when visiting. What a trifecta that would have been................ WHOA!!!      Three top sorts, three top bodies.

Lesley.  All class.
 

 

Flo.  The morning after a great night out with Peter and Sue at  Leeton.




"Why did you wake me? God I'm crook."

 

All that remains today are those blessed memories of times gone by and of those who contributed to making them what they were.
I was never the best at anything, but oh boy, didn't I have some fun and gain satisfaction from attempting to be.

The one thing that I am ashamed of is I have always had a habit of burning my bridges behind me and this was responsible for me losing touch with those whom I most certainly should not have. This is my only major regret.

Today, many folk have no idea what it was like to live and play at a time when there was hardly any political correctness and if you did not like something or someone, you simply said so or told them so.  There were no laws that made it an offence to have a genuine opinion on a subject or person. Wages were low, but so too were prices and all in all, one was better off then than today. (Take petrol prices, electicity, gas and water charges as an example.)

At time of writing this little piece, there are over 40 tales from the past that have been recorded for future generations and posterity. Many of these tales are indeed one hundred percent true and what has been described is a true description of what took place exactly as it happened. Many of the photographs have been taken from the internet to show what was what and generally they paint a fairly accurate image of the described events as they're written. Some of the other tales are true, but in a few small parts have been dramatised to add interest. The remainder are what Hollywood would advertise as a true story based on fact. In some cases names have been changed to protect the guilty and there are moments of sheer fantasy, where the true facts have been replaced by dreaming and wishful thinking. Come on now, nobody's perfect. 


Just thought I would include this picture. If anyone ever asks, "What is a groundswell?" Show them this.
Absolutely amazing.

Somewhere in Hawaii I would say.

As the decades have rolled on, I have reached the crest of the hill and for quite some time now it's  all been about descending. I have gone..........

......from this......

..........to this.

The years, on the whole have been very kind to me and even though I have never accomplished every single thing I desired, the undeniable fact is I have accomplished a whole lot more than I ever imagined I would. When I finally go toes up at Ryhope, I will leave behind a son and grandaughters along with Gabi, my female sparring partner for over 40 years and many other members of the extended family, the older ones of whom have experienced similar ups and downs, while the not so old will continue to learn from their own experiences.

One thing I can be accused of is being over sentimental, but I make no excuses for that. During the 1960's and 70's it was one big rage that slowly tapered off when true responsibility began to take over. Sure, there were many sinful activities that took place, but once again I must add that no one was ever seriously hurt. Even during those wild years the fondest memory was always  Xmas with the folks and extended family. Today there is only Gabi, Patrick, Kylie and the Giggles, along with me who's left. Just recently I uncovered what I think is a birthday gathering at our former Peakhurst home that is arguably the last time we were all together as one. I always loved family gatherings.

Gabi and Patrick (Foreground left), Brother Jay. Jim, Molly, Sue, Margaret and Holly (From the back left clockwise) Missing is Jay and Sue's son Grant.

Sadly, Jay, Jim, Molly and Holly are no longer with us in body, but always in spirit.

Throughout the past few years when I commenced wandering down memory lane, God only knows how many recollections and anecdotes have been responsible for my eyes filling and at times those tears that streamed down my cheeks. Being aware of ones mortality instills a desire to be able to do it all over again........Sigh!

Nothing lasts forever and you only live once and I've more than had my turn. Please take time out to read what has made my limited time on this planet so enjoyable. If anyone obtains only a small degree of satisfaction from life, compared to what this little black duck has, you'll be doing OK.

 Look, read and enjoy.

HOW THE EXPERTS DO IT.

Hopefully the end result.

Lake Macquarie

Compared to many other lakes and estuarys, Lake Macquarie has remained almost pollution free and the fishing is slowly improving. All in all, not a bad place to live.

The means of getting there.

It has become a common occurence to read of some unfortunate who has foolishly ventured out to sea in a small tinny, along with some of his mates, hoping to bring home a feed of fish. God only knows how many times television news programs report on this phenomena as well. Many, if not all of these misguided adventures, occur when the seas are being whipped up by storms, not far removed from being cyclonic and sadly are responsible for some fatalities on a regular basis.

Boats designed to safely navigate rivers, bays and estuarys etc. are not capable, in many cases, to be taken out onto the open sea, particularly when big seas are running. Many of these boats tend not to have any of the essential and legally required safety equipment on board, which makes the odds on survival astromomical.

For all of my life I have always wanted to own my own small tinnie, to enable me to be where hopefully the fish are. After two decades of land based angling, the missus and me retired to the shores of beautiful Lake Macquarie and at long last I became a boat owner. I obtained the boat drivers licence and as I normally do whenever a new craze takes a hold, I set out to ensure the boat became fully fit out with all the bells and whistles etc.
25 HP Outboard, Flat flooring with waterproof carpet, Navigational lights, Oars and paddles, New anchors, one sand and the other a reef kellick, new anchor ropes and mooring ropes, boat hook, landing net, prawn net, marine radio, Depth sounder and fish finder, water resistant seat cushions  and so on and so forth.

A mere drop in the ocean.

Fisherman's Heaven.

The tinnie creaked under the weight of it all. I attended seminars conducted by what was then known as Waterways and kept fully abreast of maritime regulations and the contents of the boating handbook.

I have always been a stickler for obeying the rules and have always made a point to pass on the knowledge obtained to all of my fellow thrillseekers. Being armed with all of this knowledge and awareness has made boating safe, sound and enjoyable for me and my passengers.

The years of training and the experience gained from it all enabled me to make boating and fishing an absolute pleasure, as the following demonstrates.

How to do it and not get it (by one who did it, got it and can't get rid of it)

FOUL LANGUAGE FOLLOWS

Early morning, the sun's up and I'm out of bed. Connect the boat and trailer to the car, making sure safety chains and lights are working. Start the car and off to the launching ramp at Wangi. You beauty, nobody at the ramp, so into the lake goes the tinnie.

Wangi Boat Ramp. North side. 

Park the car and trailer and scooter out the boat into deeper water and commence to start the outboard. The air temperature already is approaching 34 degrees C and after 15 minutes of continuous pulling, I'm a soaking sweaty mess and the motor remains silent. After another 5 or so minutes of tugging, interspersed with the odd profanity, I give up and onto the trailer goes the boat and home to Blackalls to attempt to rectify the problem. Arrive home, motor starts second pull, more profane speech. Motor runs for 5 minutes then once again off to Wangi.

Cantankerous heap of shite.

Arrive at Wangi boat ramp, prepare the boat for launching. Shit!!! Forgot to fill the tank with fuel purchased the previous day. Where is it, home at Blackalls of course. Home we go, fill the tank and once more unto the breach.....Give me a break. For the third time arrive at Wangi boat ramp, launch tinnie and scooter out, board the boat and commence to start motor. Motor starts first pull, Thank you Lord. Weave one's way through the moored yachts and off to find the artificial reefs at the Lake's southern end. 

Hang on, where's all this shit ridden water coming from, Fuck it, the bungs aint in. The bungs refuse to screw in and the tinnie is going down faster than Monica Lewinski paying homage to her beloved President. Back to Wangi, beach the boat and finally get the bungs to screw in. Off we go again and 15 minutes later arrive in close proximity to the reefs. Where's the fucking bait, in the fridge at Blackalls, that's where. After language that would have made Gordon Ramsey blush, it's back to Wangi. Park boat on beach and drive car back home. Retrieve bait from fridge and back to Wangi. Scooter out boat and motor starts 1st pull (Ah! God is with me at last) and we're off south once again.

"Bloody Hell, We're off at last."

At last, reach the general area of the reefs and throw down a diet coke and polish off a ham and cheese sambo. After 30 minutes of steering grid patterns across the areas where the map says the artificial reefs should  be, absolutely no luck in finding even one of them.........Useless, miserable pox ridden maps. Stuff the lot of them, who needs them or gives a shit, lets wet a line anyway. I decide to use both rods. The rods, where the friggen hell are they? Oh go fuck your kid sister rotten, you're not serious are you, no fucking rods, guess where? You got it in one,  home at fucking Blackalls................You miserable arse fucking prick.

All those years of training and dedication to the cause had more than adequately prepared me to cope with the previously stated minor setbacks and I was able to arrive at a satisfactory decision.

YOU CAN WELL AND TRULY SHOVE YOUR SHIT RIDDEN FISHING SIDEWAYS UP YOUR SLIMY DISEASED POX RIDDEN ARSEHOLE. I WENT TO THE WANGI RISSOLE, BEEF AND BLACK BEAN FOR LUNCH AND GOT WELL AND TRULY PISSED AS A  NEWT.

The Wangi Rissole. Any old port in a storm.

"Whose shout?"

Ahh! The stuff dreams are made of.

SEEING HOW I WAS AS DRY AS THE PROVERBIAL DEAD DINGO'S DONGER, THE BEER NEVER TASTED SO GOOD, NOR DID IT EVEN MAKE ANY ATTEMPT TO TOUCH THE SIDES.   
 
 End of fucking story.

THE RAVAGES OF TIME.

LOOKING FORWARD TO THE PAST

                                Long, Long ago on an island far, far away. 

                                Oh! how the mighty have fallen.


My God, what one would give to be able to turn back the hands of time and return to those days of political incorrectness and little responsibility.
Never in my wildest dreams did I ever imagine I would eventually evolve into the aged, overweight specimen, with aching and creaking joints, that I have become. At least I have had the company of the same mischieveous brunette for over 40 years to date and I hasten to add I never would have made it without her, despite the never ending ear bashing I am subjected to on a regular basis. I'll tell you one thing though, she can paint and does so as often as she can. Several of Gabi's paintings are gracing various homes around Sydney and locally.

Long gone are those times when it was nothing to down copious quantities of that frothy amber fluid and the next morning be responsible for making rash promises to one's self to give up drinking altogether. Nowadays it's the odd beer on special occasions, the odd glass of mainly white wine and bucketloads of lemon cordial that prevent the two of us from dehydrating.

The sad thing recently has been the number of family members, close friends, aquaintances and neighbours who have passed on, owing to the ravages of time that fate inflicts on all of us eventually. It has made me to become aware of my own mortality and memories of those long gone good old days, spent in the company of so many good friends and wonderful people, have once again been flooding through the cobwebs of my mind. It has made me aware that I was blessed to have been given the opportunity to be a part of them all and to realise how fortunate I was to have had what I once had.

Surfing at its exhilarating best.  South Maroubra.

                      

A great way of life.

                              

 

The current headquarters.

The proposed new HQ.

   
At time of writing the plans for the brand new Surf Club building have been drawn up and I am led to believe construction will commence within the next 12 months or so. It will be sad to see the old clubhouse fade into history, but in all fairness, it has definetly passed its used by date. 

The end result was as follows........

The Taj Mahal





Coffee Shop

 

Coffee shop with Restaurant upstairs

A quiet drink at QY's

Nice view.

 

Restaurant 

 

Ahh! The aroma of burnt meat....Yum.

Surfing in its purest form.

Someone has to do it.

I am certain that Gabi too has her favourite memories relating to times gone by, but she tends to keep them to herself, whereas I get a buzz out of making some of mine known to all and sundry. When I start reminicsing about the past, there really is not much that I experienced that would not be regarded as the norm for the average person. For me however, it was many of the simple things that meant so much to me and none of them have been, or ever will be forgotten.

The exhilaration felt when wave riding on my racing surf ski, the thrill of bodysurfing, the indescribable feeling of excitement of riding my Malibu, even more exciting when surfing with the beautiful blonde headed Paula.
The adrenalin rush when the plywood surfboat starts sliding down the face of a green wave over six foot tall.
The tender and loving moments spent with the odd steady girlfriend when alone together. There were quite a few cuties who made up the numbers every now and then and even though they could never be regarded as steadies, they more than contributed to making life as it was then memorable, to say the least. Participating in just about any activity with either one, or both of the two sisters, Paula and Lesley, especially when parked in the Fiat 600 outside my Annandale home saying goodnight to each other after an eventful weekend in the club and on the beach etc. Boy, did I look forward and love being given a lift home by either girl in that little Italian rocket on Sunday evenings.
There were the all too numerous drinking sessions at the Newport Arms, Mona Vale hotel and the Avalon RSL, the many trips to just about every Drive In theatre in and around Sydney with someone pretty to snuggle up with, Ten Pin bowling at Balgowlah, Squash at Newport and Avalon and when in season the Stock Car races at Westmead of all places. I tell you those westie petrol heads were besotted with young blonde headed Paula as there weren't too many of her quality at the races. At times it was like swatting flies keeping the interested ones at bay. The Sunday evening drinks at the Surf Club, known as QY's and the many Bucks nights and mixed functions held in the Surf Club building on a regular basis were always popular and were well supported by all of us.  During the early 60's we had the Stomp dance craze take off at Avalon, which led to a large increase in club membership and enabled us to make a sizable  payment on our mortgage. We ended up owning the clubhouse building years sooner than anticipated, as the State Centre loan was paid back before the end of season '64-'65, if I am not mistaken.

To sum up, what made it all special were the many friendships that were created and being aware that one was giving up a portion of one's time to perform a valuable public service. Despite all the mischief making and at times over the top behaviour, beach patrols were regarded as the main reason for our presence and existence. If push ever came to shove it was a Three Musketeers situation namely, 'All for one and one for all' that clicked into place. Shortly before I started this blog there was a tragic accident in one of our rivers involving members of the North Narrabeen SLSC. To enable the Narrabeen members to grieve and come to terms with their  loss, members of the Avalon club volunteered to take responsibility for Narra's Saturday beach patrol. Even when it comes to other clubs, the aforementioned situation also applies as well. 

Avalon and Nth. Narrabeen Girls Crews.

All of us had, what was then a modern well maintained building in which we entertained ourselves. We cooked our meals, we slept in the bunkhouse, or on the verandah out front, we consumed the odd amber ale and lager, we stowed our gear and showered and had all our various surf craft stored safely in the boatshed. As members of the Surf Boat crew we were required to compete at many an Open or Restricted Surf Carnival and somehow found time to do so.
Our backyard was the Avalon district and our front yard was the sacred beach and Pacific Ocean.

One can only hope and pray that there is an afterlife, because time is beginning to catch up with all of us. Imagine the reunions and sheer excitement when all of us mischief makers are once again in the one place, the mind boggles at the mayhem that will most certainly eventuate. Saint Peter, who is in charge of the keys to the Kingdom, better see to it that he never lets the keys to the fridge out of his site, otherwise the angels and God Almighty himself will not be getting a wink of sleep at any time day or night.  ( Providing of course, we all make it upstairs that is )

                        
                                                AMEN TO THAT        
                





 
               

BOZ....ONE IN A BILLION

                                                                                Boris Fuller (Boz) 2004 - 1/08/2011

Cats are spoilt self centred egotists who only do what they do whenever they feel like doing it. All the love and affection that emanates from them is wholly for their own gratification. A canine bends over backwards to please his or her male and female companions and after only basic training will obey requests and commands from them, where as a feline will either completely ignore you, or say,
"E-Mail me, I'm busy."

Back in the 1950's and into the 60's I was blessed to be the master of what was the smartest dog I have ever known, the legendary Tojo. During the 70's there was the devoted labrador Casey. For most of my life I have always been a lover of animals and since marrying my good wife Gabi during 1972 pussy cats have taken over as the favoured pet. Throughout the years there have been more than several furry felines who were part of our family and were loved, despite their tendency to be quite self centred most of the time.

However, during January 2008 we saved from certain death a black and white bitza tom cat and adopted him as a member of the family. It did not take Gabi and I long to realise he was unlike any other cat and behaved in a manner that would or could not be regarded as typical or normal for an average feline.

Flea ridden, undernourished, with cat flu and a broken leg.

                                          
He would have been born towards the end of 2004 and Gabi and I assumed he must have been a kiddies Xmas present. Cats are only cute kittens for a relatively short period of time and even before he reached his first birthday he was cast out onto the streets to fend for himself.
When he was around 10 months old he was confronted by our fluffy golden boy Fritz who objected to him eying off our tan and white neutered female Jink. It was a standoff that ended with no fisticuffs, but lots of name calling. When Fritz, who was always a troublemaker, was given to a couple several houses away and we purchased Dinah to keep Jink company, our street urchin began regular visits to keep in touch with both girls. It became obvious that all he desired was company and the girls appeared to more than just tolerate him.

For almost three years his visits became quite regular and any other tom that made an appearance had the living tripe belted out of him. Most of his days were spent hanging out with and sleeping with the girls and during the evenings he was out and about defending his territory. In the latter half of 2007 Gabi began feeding him and named him Boris. She set up a soft bed for him in my workshop and he began to sleep there more often than not. He still would not allow Gabi or me to approach him as he simply did not trust anyone, God only knows what he had been subjected to during those three lonely years.

His one true love, the Goddess Jink.

                                                             

Still a little unsure, but adapting to domestic life.

                                  
The summer of 07-08 was a stinker. During January 2008 the temperature was in the 40's and Boris the tom had been snoozing under the shadeclothed arbour in our backyard. The heat had got to him, he left his chair and flopped onto the concrete that was so hot you could fry an egg on it. He was panting and crying for relief and for the first time he approached Gabi and I wanting to be picked up. I still believe he was only minutes away from certain death. Gabi picked him up and carried him into the house where the Air-Con and some water and milk revived him within a very short time. We began feeding him on the back landing with the door open and after only two days he entered the house to check everything out. Although this was his first excursion inside, he found the two kitty litter trays in the laundry and made a deposit in one of them without spilling one grain of litter onto the floor. He decided everything was to his liking and fell asleep at Gabi's feet before moving in permanently. He awoke right on teatime and joined the girls in the laundry for dinner. Our two females outwardly appeared to accept him as a family member.
As for Boris, he fell head over heels in love with his goddess Jink.
The only hiccup in our relationship with him was when we took him to the Vet for a complete checkup and had him nicked and popped, so to speak. When we picked him up after the dirty deed had been done, the look on his face said it all,
"What the f... have you done to me?"
After two days of non stop sleeping, all was forgiven and he was ready and rearing to commence his new found life of luxury.
All those years of hard knocks had hardened him, he stank to high heaven, his cheeks were ticket punched with bite and scratch marks, his fur felt like steel wool, his breath was horrendous and he had no idea what playing was. Every now and then Jink would give his face a few love taps then run sideways away from him, hoping he would chase her, but at first he did not understand, but after noticing our young Dinah behaving like a demented whirling dervish while playing with Jink and/or her toys, memories of his childhood must have been recalled. Within two months of being spoilt rotten, he had regained his self respect and he transformed himself into a spotlessly clean, sweet smelling and extremely well groomed gentleman. For the first time since infancy he remembered that there was more to life than fighting and he began to behave almost like a kitten........Ah! at last, Nirvana. 

"This beats the garage.  I'm not minding this.  One question though, what happened to my cods?"

At times one could be forgiven for thinking he was a dog, as quite often when told to do something, he obviously understood and would do it immediately.......very un-catlike. I am convinced he realised how fortunate he was to be rescued from his hard and lonely former life and how much he was loved by Gabi and I and in appreciation at every opportunity, he returned that love with no strings attached while at the same time never failing to make us laugh out loud at his antics.

Boris attached himself to Gabi and followed her everywhere like a drover's dog, as for me, he still was not convinced. As you can see this did not last for too long and for the first time in my life I had a cat who had grown to adore me and who I was able to bond with. He was the first cat to love me as much as he loved Gabi.

Boris could not believe his luck when his Goddess would snuggle up for a nap.

        

Like most cats he learnt how to pose and look his cutest.

                

"Mums up, quick all spread out before she gets back."

It's all go.

                                                                 

The end result.  Complete and utter contentment.

For just under 4 years we were overjoyed with his presence. Never in our wildest dreams did we ever imagine a common moggie could affect us the way he did. Maybe it was because of the hard life during those early years, maybe it was the way he appeared to be all the time grateful for everything, or it could have been the way he adapted to the comforts of domestic life when adopted. Whatever it was, Gabi and I saw to it that,what turned out to be his last 4 years, were all he ever could have imagined. All he ever wanted was to be part of a family and to be loved.
His wish came true, he found his loving family, complete with two spoilt females and for the first time in his life, a place of safety, where he ended up being spoilt rotten. Despite this, not once did he ever take a single solitary thing for granted, he was grateful for every little thing that came his way and we loved him for it and he returned that love with compound interest. There was nothing insincere or patronising about his affection for Gabi and I, or his two girlfriends, he idolised us all. He would hardly ever cease talking to the two of us in squeaks and chirrups and quite often would sing love songs to Jinkie. The average cat simply does not behave in this manner and this is what made him so unique, loving and special.
Sunday evening he was playing with his toys and swinging on his cat scratcher, showing off as usual, life was pretty good. At bedtime Gabi was joined by all three moggies and when I arose at 5:30 am there they were all snuggled up together....what a life. Along with the two girls he was fed his breakfast by Gabi at 5:45 am Monday 1st. August. He entered the living room at 6:00am, gave me a rub and meowed a greeting, commenced to take up his position in front of the gas heater, then suddenly collapsed onto the rug and died instantly. He was only 2 months or so short of his 7th birthday.
What caused this to happen? Who knows, at least he went quickly in an instant,with no trauma preceding the tragedy, or knowledge of what was about to transpire. His last three and a half years were full of life's comforts, with regular and tasty meals, along with a whole range of sleeping options that he took full advantage of. He loved his two female companions and he most certainly loved Gabi and I and demonstrated it on a daily basis. He seemed to understand from day one what the two posted cat scratcher was for and loved to show off on it at every opportunity. His only mistake was defending the girls and his territory with way too much dedication and in doing so brought about his demise years earlier than it should have occurred. Gabi predicted what would happen if we could not prevent him from belting the living tripe out of any tom foolish enough to take him on, sadly she was right.
He's gone and as I type the tears are streaming down my cheeks and although they will eventually cease, the memories of him will never be forgotten.
Thank you Boz, it was a delight and indeed an honour to have known you for the all too short period of your life and to be held in such high esteem by you. Be assured little fellow, we thought as much of you as you did of us.
God bless you little mate, you were truly one in a billion. 

Footnote:   Shortly after Boz died a new male cat, who used to have the living tripe belted out of him by the wonder cat, began to keep our two girls company. Jink and Dinah appeared to like him and like Boz before him he seemed to look forward to being with them.
Unlike Boris was in the beginning, this new stray was only too happy to be patted and picked up by Gabi, who had begun to feed him. Before we or he knew it, he was in the cat cage and down to the vet he went for a complete check up and returned home minus his cods.........ouch!
No one will ever be able to replace Boris, but there is now a new addition to the Fuller family.....Buster.