Life Returns to Normal?

We are now a week and a half post-Mr. Squiggles' return. In many ways, Jim and I are still in shock. I watch him as often as I can, looking into his eyes, taking in his fur, trying to memorize every inch of him and convince myself that he is really, truly, back home. We became so used to the search that it is hard to remember what life was like before he disappeared.

For over a year, we walked the cornfields, scanned the sides of roads as we drove, drove to the homes of strangers to look at scores of cats, answered question after question about our missing boy, and tried every waking minute of the day to not let our heartache overwhelm us. Because thinking of him was inevitable. We saw him everywhere we went. Though his physical presence was gone, his spiritual presence, and his memory, was still very much in our home. Not a day went by where we didn't think of him. Sometimes we accidentally thought of a happy memory, and that hurt so much, thinking that he would never make new memories with us ever again. We endured this for over a year of our lives. 388 long days. Then one day, miraculously, it all ended.

We're so conditioned to thinking of him as missing, to searching for him, to blocking out the pain. And now we don't have to do those things. He is in our home, walking the hallways, sleeping in the window. He still has the same old habits, and he's starting to get the crabby look in his eye that was his way before. We're rediscovering things about him that we had forgotten. Yesterday, he pounced on a cat toy out of the blue, and I almost cried. I am grateful that he is home and that our long ordeal is over. No more searching, no more wondering. In time, the pain we still feel will fade, and we will still be left with our boy. And we have so many more happy memories to make with our son.