The very first time your cat, or one of your cats, go missing, it's like the end of the world, a day of nightmarish proportions, a day of inconsolable grief and mourning.
By the time the twentieth cat goes missing, however much it's loved and cherished, it's like another day at the office, a day of emotional numbness, an uneventful day.
That seems to be the case with you, Jack, on this third day of your disappearance, which although was not the first time you've gone missing, was the first time you've gone missing for this long.
Where were you really, Jack? Lying dead in a drain somewhere, hit by a car as you went about on your daily walkabout ? Killed by a dog that crept up silently behind you as you went about your way? Mating with some female cat in some distant part of the neighborhood ? Fighting with some male cat whose territory you intruded upon? Where were you really, Jack?
You are the last surviving member of the clan, Jack, the bloodline ends with you. If you die, family lineage dies with you. Bill was an adopted stray someone dumped in the back lane behind as a baby. Bill was picked up from the street. You were born here. Don't you see, Jack? You can't be dead. You can't die. Or maybe you can, Jack, maybe you can, if you have a son or daughter somewhere as a result of previous mating encounters in the past.
So, go ahead and die, Jack, go ahead and be dead somewhere. My feelings don't matter, they never did, they never will. After all, what am I but a mere footnote on a page of recorded history.