Jake is gone. Yes, gone. He was healing up so well; eating, drinking, playing. We were snuggled up in the bed during the thunderstorm last Sunday night. After it was over he wanted to go outside, like he often does. We let him. Bad move. He never came back. The little cat, Jesse, acted a little wierd last night, like he was afraid of something in the woods. Maybe he saw what happened. I suppose the big, bad, dog could have come back, or maybe a coyote. Jake was always ready to defend our property. We called him our cat-dog. Trouble was, when we got him, someone had removed his front claws, so he couldn't climb trees to escape trouble. I will never do that to a cat (again). I understand when folks intend for them to always stay inside, and some cats are happy with that. I did have Tasha's removed, intending for her to be an inside cat, and only after trying sitcky pads on the furniture (which she pulled off with her teeth), the water bottle, and everything else to get her not to destroy the furniture. Then when she just about destroyed our home, always trying to get out, we finally gave in and let her out, which she loved. But within a few years she went out one night and never returned. Coyote, I am sure.
All our neighbors know and love Jake. I think I am going to walk the neighborhood and look. Jim and I are very sad about losing our big, sweet, cat. However, my motto about animals has always been, "better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all."
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