A farewell to my cat

On Wednesday, while I was on my business trip, my cat got out. It wasn't anyone's fault; we had a broken screen neither of us noticed, and we let Gizmo play on the screen porch without thinking about it. Our landlord apparently didn't repair one of the screens when he rescreened the porch a couple of weeks ago, which left a big hole that she must have escaped from. She's been gone for five days. She's gotten out before, but she's never been gone for five hours, let alone five days. She's also never gone more than 20 feet from the house, and she would always be sitting outside crying to get back in within an hour or two. This is why I'm pretty sure she's not coming home, and I'm trying to get used to that fact.

Gizmo was a good cat. I had her for three years, since she was just six weeks old. She was my baby. She wasn't the sweetest cat, and was shy around strangers, but she loved me (and B, in some ways). She loved cuddling (as long as it was done on her terms), and sitting with her on my lap made everything right in my world. B always acted like he hated her, but I know, deep down, he secretly liked her. She was playful and always managed to crack us up when B got her chasing the laser pointer. She hogged the bed, and, somehow, whenever we went to sleep, managed to convert from a 12 pound cat into a 20 pound cinder block. Despite her flaws, she was a good pet, and I truly loved her.

I miss you, kitten. I've shed tons of tears for you already, and I'm sure there are more to come. I hope with all my heart that you're safe, wherever you are, and I hope even more that you make your way safely back home. But if you don't, just know that you were dearly loved and will be deeply missed.