Tux is gone.

Friday night Pat and I went out to the garage and got a receiver going so we could play music when we are outside. All the while Tux wandered around the garage and I kept an eye on him like a mother hen, afraid he would get hurt among all the stuff. About 20 minutes before we went back inside, I saw him wander on out the garage door. Just in case, I called to him before we closed the garage door and he didn’t answer.

About an hour later, around midnight, I took Spike out to do her business and found Tux lying on the walkway with an injured foot. Somehow he had answered my earlier call, even though he could barely walk. His back leg was bleeding and possibly broken. Since it was so late, the only thing I could do was gently pick him up and put him in his bed by the front door, with food and water. Worried about him, I didn’t sleep well that night and checked on him several times during the night and in the early morning. He was still there at 6:30 a.m. When I looked out he looked up to me, with a pain in his eyes that broke my heart. When I went out again at 9:00, he was gone.

Perhaps I should have put him in a carrier for a ride to the vet on Saturday, but I didn’t. It is a fact I have come to regret. I didn’t think he could go far with his injury and I just couldn’t bring myself to put him in a cage, even for his own good. Now I will have to live with “what ifs” and feelings that I somehow let him down.

It is amazing how Tux had become such a big part of my life in such a short time. Perhaps it was because he reminded me so much of Loverboy, who I was blessed to have for 22 years before old age claimed him. Tux was another of those rare animals that could worm his way into your heart almost instantly with more heart and personality than you will find in most people. He knew how to love and show that love and I was very blessed to have him in my life, even for such a short time. The people who “threw him away” did not realize what a treasure they had.

In only a month, Tux and I had already established a morning and evening ritual. He would always come running when I called … no matter where he was on the property. I’d hear his cry first, and then there he would be dashing out from under the groundcover surrounding the property, coming down the hill behind the house or walking a tightrope on the bricks surrounding the house as he made his way to the front porch. Although a lot of the time he would show up on his own, especially when he was hungry. If I went back inside after I put food out, he’d cry and go from door to door to try to coax me back out so we could “talk”.

As spring has taken more of a hold in the past few weeks, I would often go outside to wander the yard, with Tux as my shadow, as we looked at the tulips, daffodils, crocus and the blooming of the pear trees. Whenever I barbecued, he was there on the back porch, sunning himself and hoping for a "taste". If I was working outside, he’d follow me around the yard until my chores were done, often playfully rolling on the concrete to get my attention. Then I’d pick him up, climb the steps and sit down in the rocking chair on the porch with Tux in my lap. He would give me kisses by rubbing his cheek into mine and spend time purring in my lap while I petted him, rocked, and enjoyed the Spring beauty that was coming to life before our eyes. Those were some of the most peaceful, soul-satisfying times of my day. Now they are gone.

As I started photographing the signs of spring, Tux has had more pictures taken of him than I have ever taken of now 21 year old Brat. I have a whole folder of Tux at his best … lying on the porch, napping in his cat bed by the door, surveying his domain, rolling in the dirt, stalking his prey and more.

Still, even though my head knows he is gone, my heart refuses to let hope die. The memory of an old movie from childhood, “The Three Lives of Thomasina” has been much on my mind the past few days. I live in hope that Tux has not used up all of his nine lives and is out there … somewhere … alive.

Whatever the reason, each morning and evening, I go out and call for him … “kitty, kitty, Tux!” Over and over I call, each time pausing to listen for his faint cry, a sign that he’s heard and is on his way home … a cry that I heard daily for a month and now long for each and every day. I listen closely ... past the tinkling sound of the wind chimes and the croaking of the frogs in the creek. I listen past the sound of the wind in the trees and the songs of the birds and I hear … silence … a silence that cuts into my heart like a knife.

I wander the property. Looking for a flash of black anywhere among the trees. There are times when I am outside that I even think I hear a faint echo of his cry. When that happens, I have to stop as my heart leaps, only to have the breath snatched from my body and big fat tears roll down my cheeks when I realize it was only a trick of the wind.

It doesn’t seem quite fair that I should have two beautiful springs in a row that are so bittersweet. Somehow this one seems worse than the last. At least Loverboy died in my arms surrounded by my love. My biggest fear and greatest pain is that if Tux is truly gone, and, if he is, that he probably died cold, alone, hungry and in pain. What a bitter irony that the very predators that I predicted would take some of the feral cats could possibly be the fate of Tux.