Sammy was a black cat. Maybe ours, maybe the neighborhood's. I never got clarity on that. What I know is he greeted me every day in the backyard.
Sometime around first grade, Sammy froze to death outside.
I remember crying. Not the performative kind. The kind where your brain keeps running the same broken loop: he was just here. Why can't I see him again. That doesn't make sense.
It was my first experience with loss. An absence where routine used to be.
I don't know if Sammy was officially ours. But he chose to show up. Every day. That made him mine.