She just wandered into my life, then wandered out.
It didn't have to end up like this.
She chose to leave, I didn't force her.
I'll admit, our relationship was always casual.
She came and went when she pleased, but when she came, she always pleased me, so I tolerated her . . . independence.
It's hard to say exactly when the relationship became serious.
We met outside the train station eight months ago, exchanged glances each time our paths crossed after that for a few weeks, then one day, on a whim, I bought her lunch. We started spending more and more time together, and before I knew it she had moved in.
As autumn became winter, evenings would be spent curled up on the sofa,
watching television, sharing body warmth. By the time Christmas came around,
she was the only one I wanted to buy gifts for.
Her reaction when they were opened was a joy to watch.
But then one day in early spring, she just went out in the morning and disappeared.
I was in shock. I roamed the streets, searching all her usual haunts, but nothing.
Until one day in June, I saw her right where I had first met her, at the station,
with her new beau. I followed them down to the river, walking shoulder to shoulder, and watched them stretch out in the long grass.
It was then that I saw her litter of kittens, and I knew I had lost her forever.
It's not easy being a cat person.
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