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.
