A lady posted an ad on Craigslist Lost and Found on Monday stating that she has found a colony of stray cats in South Seattle. Three of the cats look feral, but one cat, a large orange and white tabby, looked like a lost pet. She said this cat would come close to people, but be started away by any loud noise.
I emailed her immediately and sent a picture of Finny. She called while I was out and told JP where to find the cat colony, complete with makeshift shelter and food area.
The area is about 4 miles N of where we leave. Stretching the bounds of possibility, but not impossible.
Nothing is impossible.
We went there last night and only saw two of the four cats she's seen there, and neither was the orange and white cat.
Tonight we went back, a little later, a little more towards dusk. As we approached, the Pope said, look there...
I looked, and behind a fenced area sat a cat that was almost identical to Finny. ALMOST. And no matter how long I stared, or hoped, or wished, it wasn't Finny. There was an orange spot on this cat's nose.
"Orange Spot?" I asked the Pope, "Or an injury?? Maybe it is blood, and it will wipe right off and underneath that cat will be Finny."
Because it is possible that Finny shrank a couple of inches, and grew fatter, and that his face shape changed, or that the white markings on his face have retreated below his eye level.
How can it be that there are two cats that look so much alike and yet THIS one, THIS FOUND ONE, is NOT my little man?
BECAUSE WHY IS IT MY WORLD THAT HAS TO BE BROKEN, THAT CANNOT BE FIXED?
It wasn't Finny. And my heart, which had swelled up so large it almost broke open my ribs, deflated again.
He is still out there. And he is either lost, dead, taken or (and maybe in all cases) never coming home.
And the world just wants me crushed.
We left a bunch of food for the cats, because even in my broken and banged up world, all cats have someone who loves them.
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