The two that never returned.
Over the years, seventeen cats have appeared at my window looking for food, shelter, company, or sometimes all three.
With a bit of patience, persistence and luck, every one of them found a path away from being homeless, feral, or completely alone.
All except two.
One was a huge aggressive tom cat we called Chucky. He would swipe at, bite, or attack anything that came within reach, cat or human. After months of trying to help him, I eventually stopped offering food. Nothing seemed to make any difference.
The other was a young kitten who appeared much later.
The last time I saw either of them was on a cold, wet night with rain hammering against the windows.
The kitten was there, and Chucky was sitting nearby watching. They often left together, and that night they did the same.
Neither ever returned.
For a long time I wondered what had happened. Did they move on? Were they taken in by someone? Did misfortune catch up with one, or both, of them?
The truth is that I will never know.
Most stories come with an ending. These two didn't.
Of all the cats that have passed through my life, it is perhaps no surprise that the two whose stories remain unfinished are the ones I still find myself thinking about from time to time. Sometimes it is not the endings we remember most clearly, but the mysteries.