This little black ball of fur came into our lives 6 or 7 weeks ago, just after Tom died. His presence was meant to help me get over the loss of the best cat in the world.
He's an adorable little (not so little, actually) kitten, with a very cute (but persistent) miaow, and a lot of playfulness, as you would expect.
What he is not, is sociable. He's scared of everyone and everything, won't let anyone near him, certainly won't let anyone touch him, let alone stroke him. He remains, despite our encouragements, our patience, our trustworthiness (we've never done him harm of any kind), a wild cat.
His latest obsession is going out on to the balcony, jumping down into the courtyard and disappearing for a few hours. Given that he's totally black, he's pretty hard to find (especially at night, obviously). But, so far, he's always come back when he's hungry (which is often, it must be said).
I love the little black cat, I really do, but it's just that he's not Tom. I don't - can't - love him as much as I love(d) Tom, simply because he remains a disappointment to me; I long to take him on my knees and stroke him, cuddle him, and I've only managed to touch the tip of his tail once, as he disappeared behind the dishwasher.
I love him, but he's not Tom and apparently never will be. The hole in my life remains gaping. And worst of all, I never even got to say goodbye to Tom. I just hope and pray that he knew how very, very much he was loved, right up to the end.
Of course, there is also another Zorro in my life - the "real" one so to speak...!
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