After my mother passed away, the house felt unbearably quiet, lit only by the Christmas lights she had insisted on hanging early, even during her illness. Those lights flickered with a cheer that felt painfully out of place. Her black cat, Cole, had become my anchor in those weeks—always close, always calm, as if he understood the weight of my grief. When he suddenly vanished after the funeral, it felt like losing my mother all over again. I searched everywhere, calling his name into the cold air each night, terrified that the last living piece of her was gone too.
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