All good things come to an end and so must the Billi Diaries. No, Billi isn’t dead. No, I am not out of pages either, smartass. I don’t want Billi Diaries to become another War and Peace. Or the Twilight series.

As time went on Billi began to live the second of its nine lives. The life he led as ‘Alarm Cat’. The scourge of my dreams. The terror of my nights that used to come alive once the lights went out. Had he been born a couple of decades earlier Hetfield and Ulrich would have penned ‘Enter Sandcat’ instead.

Sometime between 4 am and 5 am every night/morning Billi would transform in to the abominable Alarm Cat. The creature that makes Boogeyman seem like a stuffed toy. It would start with a few meows, progressing to Meows and finally reaching the crescendo with some MEOWS. It would start as the background score of whatever the fuck I was dreaming in to the harsh reality beating down on my eardrums. I would try and hide under my pillow but that would only make him bolder. I would hear his claws scratching my bed inches away from my face, a friendly warning. I would pull the comforter over my head and hold it tightly as if it would deter him but to no avail. He could climb up on the bed, crawl menacingly close to my ears and say the words that haunt me every night…..meow.

Who knows what the fuck he wanted from me! Sometimes it would be food, sometimes water but mostly just for shits and giggles. Before you go on and lecture me on the the silliness of not leaving a bowl of water from him to quench his thirst from, let me tell you something about Billi. He is no ordinary Billi. He refuses to drink water from the bowl. He likes his water fresh, right off the tap. Apparently in cat world water from bowl is like Guinness from a can, not good enough! Yes, every time he is thirsty he likes to sit under the tap in bathroom and meow the fuck out of our patience till one of my flatmates would get up and turn the tap open for him to lap water from. By one of us I mean me and as it might be easier to bring Osama back from dead than waking up either of my flatmates.

Let’s talk about the food then. I would at night leave enough cat food in his bowl to feed a tribe of cats in Africa for a month. But if, by chance, while Billi was eating the center of the bowl became empty and food piled up along the sides it was as good as empty for him. Cue meows, scratches and tantrums. Brat you say? He is a brat out of hell!

But for all his tantrums he is still an excellent stress buster during normal human hours. Be it chasing laser light all over the house or losing fights with paper bags or getting trapped in cardboard boxes, Billi does provide a lot of entertainment without any ads. Bill 1 TV 0.

But come night, he is the reason I look like an emaciated frankenstein in the mornings. I wish Billi had chosen to be Batcat instead of Alarm Cat, but honestly I can’t see the scum of Gotham quaking in fear of Billi stalking Gotham City at night. He runs like a girl (not being sexist, you have to see him run to know what I mean) and is about as brave as a paranoid Ostrich. So Alarm Cat he is and he will be for years to come.

I could go on about Billi and his misadventures, especially the ones with Ninja. But The Billi Diaries must end as many skeletons in my closet are getting restless. There is a lot more to bore you with before I forget. As I enter my (3)30s my memory is as much as that of computers in 1930s, non-existent. But don’t you worry, I have a memory bank. It’s called other people’s Facebook albums. It is sort of like Memento except I have a bunch of other people doing all the clicking for me. So next time you see me do what you would to any other celebrity, take a picture.