After My Mother’s Funeral, Her Cat Disappeared — Then Returned on Christmas Eve
Then one morning, he was gone. The spot on the couch where he slept was cold, the back door slightly open. Panic swallowed me whole. I searched the neighborhood, called his name into the winter air, posted notices, and sat on the porch night after night, hoping to hear a familiar sound that never came. Christmas Eve arrived heavy and gray, and the grief I’d been holding back finally collapsed. I sat on the kitchen floor in the dark, exhausted and empty, convinced I had lost the last connection to my mother. Then, just as I had stopped believing in answers, I heard a soft sound at the door. When I opened it, Cole stood there—thin, tired, but unmistakably himself.
In his mouth, he carried my mother’s favorite glass ornament, the one she always placed front and center on the tree. Before I could react, he turned and walked away, glancing back as if to make sure I followed. I didn’t hesitate. Barefoot and shaking, I followed him through quiet streets until we stopped in front of a house I hadn’t thought about in years—the home we lived in when I was a child. Memories flooded back: porch lights, summer evenings, my mother’s voice telling me everything would be okay. Cole sat at the walkway as if he had completed a task. The door opened, and an elderly woman stepped out, recognizing the cat immediately. She explained that Cole had been visiting her for days, as if searching for someone.
