My heart clenches each time I fling open the kitchen door expecting to see him sleeping in his cage. And each time, instead of Fluffy, I'll see that pesky white cat that usually comes to steal food and sleep with Fluffy in his cage. It's a nasty feeling, that crushing disappointment of thinking it's him. That glimpse of white fur, followed by dread and unmistakeable sadness.
Fluffy is family. He's been with me for the past 12 years. I can't bear to give up hope so easily. It makes me think of those people who had family and friends aboard the 370. No body, no closure. What unspeakable suffering.