Tank, Please come home…

Tank, Please come home...

My Kitty is missing. 😦 I want him home so much.
You may not know this, but my kitty, Count Von Tankenstein, is the best cat in the world.
We got him from a friend who wanted him to have a better life, and he was mostly an outdoor kitteh. No litterbox, great for us because Manbeast is allergic.
He was feral at first, growling and hissing as he carefully walked up to us and sniffed at us, and he was a ball of scabs and fleas.
After flea meds, and special food, he started to heal, and he started to purr instead of hiss.
He started coming inside, a little at a time, until he was sleeping indoors with us at night because winter was setting in.
He would bring us dead presents, sometimes whole things and sometimes just bits, but we knew it was because he thought we were stupid and couldn’t hunt for ourselves. He even brought me a live one once and stared at me through the glass doors as he bit down on it, as if to say “This is what I could do to you hooman.”
He would attack me if I was rough-housing with my other half, because he knew it was his job to protect daddy from me at all costs. Even during sexy-times.
He never ate my yarn, even if I was knitting with him in my lap, and the yarn dangled over his face.
He always growled at solicitors and church people who would stop by the house and ring the bell.
He was shot by teenagers with B-B guns, survived, and has the shots still stuck under his skin on his head and neck. We call them his “war wounds.”
He would help me chase the goats off the porch if they went where they didn’t belong.
He loves head scritches, but disdains all other forms of affection, unless you wish to pick him up at the end of the driveway and carry him to the door (oh so far.)
He has no hair on his chin, like his father before him.

We’ve had you for several years, but we thought we had so many more ahead of us.

Please Kitteh. I can’t ever replace you. I miss you. Please come home.

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