Dear Georgie-Porgie, Puddin' 'N Pie,
I miss you.
I miss you.
This morning when I pulled up to mom and dad's house, I saw a streak of silver shoot across the yard. My heart leapt into my throat and I craned my neck out the window, but it wasn't you. If I squinted my eyes and tilted my head, it might have looked like you, but it wasn't you.
A few weeks ago, I went to the pound with mike and sarah to look for kittens, and I found myself looking into the eyes of every silvery gray tabby I saw. One mew had blue eyes just like you and I wasn't entirely sure it wasn't you. "Are you my Georgie?" You always were a talker. But this mew didn't say anything and I knew it wasn't you.
I don't know if you left us voluntarily, if you were taken, or if you were injured. I still feel guilty about your absence because I brought the kittens home. The kittens you hated, the kittens who stole your quiet resting spots, who stole our attention, who stole your home. We never stopped loving you, Jo, but I'm so sorry if you felt superfluous. It was us, it wasn't you.
This not knowing is terrible. If we knew, we could mourn, but we're stuck in a place between hope and loss. I have an internal struggle with this whenever I think of you; do I assume that you are gone forever or do I hope that you will be on the porch chair one afternoon when I drive up? I can't wrap my head around either one completely.