11 August 2015
I fear that Milli is no more. I last saw her on the evening of July 2nd when I let her out to do her savage jungle bit. No sign of her the next morning. I didn’t think a great deal of it, about a half a dozen times over the past few summers she would “go feral” and be missing for two or three days, then return completely unconcerned about the emotional trauma I’d endured. I probably deserved it, considering what I’d put my own family through. But nevertheless, after shouting through the woods and walking through the neighborhood and visiting the local animal shelter, and revisiting old haunts. I’ve just about given up on her. There’s no telling. The likeliest scenarios that I imagine are that she’s run afoul of a bigger and meaner animal out in the wild, her aging body finally betrayed her during a critical leap and she plummeted to mortal injury, or, my personal favorite: She went out, had herself a good romp, a good shit, and a good hunt. She curled up on a comfy pile of leaves, went to sleep with a belly full of fresh rodent, and slipped peacefully into The Great Pain-Free.
She’s not saying. I miss her, and I’m lucky to have known her.