Last Thursday night at about 2:30 A.M., I woke to what sounded like a cat fight. I immediately knew it was our almost 5 month old kitten, Luke. I don't know how I knew, but I did. My husband and I ran out the back door with our flashlight (living in the country with animals, you're prepared for these situations) and I began yelling for him.
We didn't hear him again, not a sound anywhere. After 15-20 minutes of roaming in the dark, we went to bed. Luke's mama has gone and came back several times, so we were hopeful he would be home in the morning.
Morning came, and Luke did not. All day, I went out to call for him, searching our field and the bean field next door as well as I could. A lot of crying happened that day as I remembered the events of the day before. How he had lapped up milk from the stand as I milked the goat. How I helped him get to a mouse under a pile of hay, and he proudly carried it back to the porch and ate it. How he trots over to the dog, who has always been afraid of cats but isn't anymore, and rubbed on him, giving him noses. How he played with his sister, and slept with her all cuddled up every day.
Jujubee had just begun calling him "her cat". She finally felt like an animal was hers. Now he is gone, and hearts are broken. I haven't told the girls about the cat fight the night before. We are holding out hope that he found a girlfriend and will return home to us, one day. But I just can't help but feel in my stomach that it isn't true.
We miss you, Lukey