I knew one day we’d be together again. Something as intangible as dying couldn’t keep us apart.
Remember all those nights we’d stay up late watching old movies? You’d lay your head on my chest, and I would stroke your face, and run my fingers through your jet hair. We wouldn’t have to say a word, merely be content, head to heart.
I didn’t recognize you at first. You were just a muddy, throw-away we found abandoned in the woods – so small, so helpless.
I would wrap you up in towels, and let you sleep on my chest to keep you safe and warm. When you’d nestle under my chin, it felt familiar… but not. Do you know what I mean?
When you were older, you’d never sit with me when anyone else was around. Only brushing against me in passing, making it look like an accident. It was like before, when we couldn’t let our families know about us. But, at night when the house was quiet, you’d come lie with me, curling around my neck, purring loudly in my ear.
Still, it wasn’t until I looked into your eyes, sitting face to face, that I finally knew. You had come back to me.
No car crash, no brain injury, not even death could separate us.
It took a very long time for you to return, but you’re here now.
The wonder of it is that you were incarnated in the guise of a sensuous black cat. It’s so very fitting. You always were a little dangerous, and a little magical.