Letters to Sammy: Conundrum

Dear Sammy,

Long before your dad and I took you home, we lived in Appleton, in a little apartment near the downtown area. Your dad and I would watch a show called Seven Days, which was a science fiction show dealing with a fictional governmental program known as the  Backstep Program, which allowed someone the chance to travel back in time. The catch was you could only go back seven days and no further, usually. (It was a TV show; the writers bent the rules on occasion.) When the chrononaut–the person who piloted the alien space craft that was used as a time machine–got to his destination, his code word was “Conundrum”.

Right now, I wish I could be dialing a payphone, waiting for a voice at the other end so I could repeat that very same word. I’d love nothing more than a do-over for this week.

Your dad and I are coping as best we can. It isn’t easy; just this morning I thought I heard you meowing. I had just gotten dressed and I was thinking, “Have I fed Sammy?” Of course, I hadn’t, because you’re not here anymore.

You have no idea how much that stings, Cat-butt. We really miss you.

Work wasn’t terrible; we weren’t busy, due to Country USA going on down in Oshkosh. I’m sure that the Wal-Marts in the area were slammed: I remember those days, when the registers were backed up and the CSMs were running around, trying to get the lines down. I can’t say that I miss that. I’m sure you remember how stressed I got while working there, since you were the one who calmed me down after those particularly bad days. I can remember your paws around my neck as you’d hug me. You have no idea how much I miss that.

The weather is warming up again and the grass is getting shaggy. Your dad is going to have to mow soon. Me, I’d be doing my best to keep you cool, either by giving you chilled wet food or slipping ice cubes into your water dish. But at least the humidity isn’t so terrible.

The silence is, though. It doesn’t seem to be getting any better, either.

Yours,

Silverwynde

P.S. I still miss your “Hello?” when I get home. I think I always will.