As I drove through the parking lot, I saw a black cat with yellow eyes and no collar streak from one car to the next.
I know that it wasn’t Bruwyn; he is gone forever. But Bruwyn was a feral kitten, and any black cat I see on the loose is probably a relative of his.
I parked, got out the cat treats, and poured a few out on the curb. Hissing and staring, the cat crept up and ate a few, then ran off again.
If I cannot have my lost son, at least I can honor his family.

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