I miss my cat.

KitKat's missing, and since she's been gone since last Thursday, we're having to accept that she's gone for good. And that's not good.

It's truly ridiculous that I love that cat so much. I've never been a "cat person," but KitKat and her sister, ChaCha, turned me into not just a cat person but a certified Crazy Cat Person! I'm the one who was always allergic to cats, the one who always preferred rough-and-tumble dogs, but these kitties just stole my heart. And KitKat was my cuddler. She's the one who would come say hello when Brett or I would work at the computer. She's also the "smart one" who was trained to touch the box of canned cat food every morning. I'd ask her, "Where's your food?" and she'd walk over to the box, reach up and tap her paw on the cans just inside the box opening.

We let her into the yard last Wednesday night, and Thursday morning she wasn't at the door as usual. No biggie—we've been getting up at different times during the day, so maybe I just missed her? The cats sleep through these summer days, so I kinda thought she was in a kid's bedroom or under the sunroom chair. But after VBS that night, we realized we hadn't seen her all day. Strange.

When she still didn't show up Friday morning, we knew something was wrong. Now it's been six days, the city animal shelter doesn't have any black cats, and we're out of hope. And that makes us very, very sad.