Dark Ice

Snow’s time has come. The ol’ guy doesn't run, play or even jump in my lap anymore. You never think about losing a friend to old age when they’re a kitten. You just smile and welcome them into your life, as if for an eternity. If I hadn’t loved him, I would feel like the two boys playing outside my back window, near the frozen creek – happy and carefree. They lift a large block of ice over their heads and toss it to the ground and try to break it with a stick. But I did love him. Whether for a cat or your own mother, love is love; and when the object of that love is lost, a part of you goes with it.

Snow has been missing four days now. I call him; sometimes put on a coat and walk down to the creek where I’ve found him so many times before, hunting I suppose. Before I say goodbye, I will go once more to the creek. There is always hope.



“Hello, how are you two doing?” I ask. They look at each other and then at me. They raise their shoulders.

“Just playing with the ice, sir,” one says. The other one places a large block of ice behind his legs as I approach.

“Have you two seen a white cat around here?” They look at each other again.

“N- no, sir. I haven’t,” one says.

“I don’t think so,” says the other one.

Skinny legs can no longer hide the awful truth. They step aside, quietly, as I walk over and kneel on one knee. There, in a half shattered block of dark ice, lay the body of a once proud and vivacious soul: Snow, my eternal friend.