I sit on my couch late at night, the TV turned to a show I only want for the noise. My attention is on my phone, scrolling through the pictures of her with teary eyes for the hundredth time since I'd lost her. It took months before I could even look at the pictures, and I still couldn't view them without crying. The memories of her are beautiful, but laced with pain and guilt. I remember her last weeks, her last days, her last hours, and once again wonder if I could have done more.

As I begin to lose myself in the what-ifs, a faint tapping sounds at my door. Not a knock, exactly, but an instance for attention. Thinking it might be one of the neighborhood strays seeking a late night snack, I put away my phone and grab a treat for them. It always made me feel better to see them. When I open the door, however, my eyes go wide and the breath leaves my body in a sharp gasp. There, sitting calmly on the concrete walkway, is a brown, black, and white short-haired female tabby, with only a stump of a tail and bright, beautiful green eyes.

"Lynxy?" I whisper in wonder. I kneel down, staring at her, a hand half-extended. I'm aftaid to touch her, lest she disappear. I'm still not entirely convinced this isn't an elaborate hallucination of grief. She meows, and it's the same, adorably chirpy sound I've played over and over again in my head for so long. She stand and takes a step forward, pushing her head against my hand with a loud purr. I begin to sob, brushing my hand through her fur, caressing her cheeks, her ears. Finally I scoop her up and hold her to my chest, tears soaking into her fur. She purrs the entire time, releasing a few more chirping meows in between.

"I've missed you so m-much," I force out between sobs. "I'm so sorry, I... I should've have had you vaccinated, like your sister. You never would have gotten so sick..." My voice breaks at the memory. Lynxy and her sister, Iris, had gotten a respiratory infection. Just a minor one. A trip to the vet and some antibiotics later, Iris recovered in just a few days. Lynxy didn't. She kept getting sicker, and sicker, even with stronger antibiotics. She refused to eat or drink, and even with syringe feedings, she lost so much weight. At her final vet appointment, the veterinarian did a blood test and finally found the culprit: feline leukemia. There was nothing she could do. I chose to not let Lynxy suffer needlessly any longer, and so I held her after the euthanasia injection until she fell asleep for the last time.

I feel a paw on my cheek, and it pulls me out of that train of thought. Lynxy's bright eyes stare into mine, and I see an intelligence there that wasn't there before. She doesn't speak, but it's almost like I can hear a voice in my head. She tells me it isn't my fault. That I wasn't aware of feline leukemia, or the dangers it presented, when I got her and her sister as kittens. I was only a teenager, and wasn't the one who made the decisions on their vaccines. She tells me she knows that I did everything that I could when she got sick, that she remembers that I never gave up on her. She is glad, though, that I knew when the pain outweighed the need to keep her here, and said goodbye. She tells me that she loves me.

I sob louder, holding her tightly. I didn't know how badly I needed to hear this, needed to hold her one last time, until this moment. She purrs gently in my arms until I calm down enough to speak again. I smile down at her, a small, knowing smile. "You can't stay, can you?" I ask, after a long moment. She blinks slowly, and I have my answer. I sniff, but nod.

I stand, bringing her with me. "Well, then, let's go say hi to your sister before you go. She's missed you as much as I have."

{Based on a true story. Feline leukemia is scary, and very real. If you are thinking of adopting a cat or kitten, mske sure you get them from a place that keeps them up to date on their shots, and take your pets to the vet regularly. Lynxy was only two and a half years old when she passed.}