Rosie, my parents’ cat, bolted out their side door last week. The plump young feline pictured above has been missing ever since. (If you live in Havertown, Delaware County, Pennsylvania, and see Rosie, please let me know.)

With each passing day, my fear increases that this episode will not end happily. I spoke on the phone with my sister, who today told me that there was a post on a community website that a black & white cat was hit by a car and killed on a busy road near my parents’ house. And there’s no word yet on whether it was Rosie.

It saddens me to think about the missing fat feline. She is sweet, super fun, and makes me smile whenever I go home for Sunday dinner. I ponder how scared she must be outside without food and water. It fucking sucks. Life isn’t fair.

But maybe my melancholy musings are misplaced. There is no evidence that Rosie isn’t alive. I don’t know that she is not enjoying her time outdoors, frolicking with other cats, and hunting food as her ancestors did. Perhaps she is strolling back to the house right now. My hopeful thoughts are as likely Truth as those pessimistic ones.

Go home, Rosie. You are missed and loved.