Oreo the cat has gone missing. We live in a canyon where nature comes down into yards and onto streets -- coyotes, bob cats, raccoons. Once a neighbor spotted a small mountain lion. So did the animal control people. A couple of weeks ago I saw a large owl watching me. I was quick to remind the owl that objects seen through owl eyes are generally larger than they appear so he shouldn't consider eating me. The owl understood and flew away.
When Oreo the cat moved into a house down the street we old timers warned the new neighbors of the wild life. Apparently, though, Oreo was just one of those cats who couldn't stay inside. Oreo tempted fate often by sunning herself in the middle of the street and forcing cars to go around her. She seemed pretty quick to run inside the gated patio when Bradford walked by and he isn't all that intimidating. After all, he is a Basset Hound.
Anyway, no one has seen Oreo for over a week. Her last sighting was on a hillside where she never before ventured. Her humans are devastated.
Come to fine out, Oreo was seventeen years old. Since no one knows what happened to her, we of the street have decided that she went up on the hillside where she had never before ventured to die a peaceful death. Cats sometimes know when that peaceful time is coming and find a nice, quiet, private place to die.
The joy of not knowing what really happened is that we truly can write our own story. Most of the time we choose to write horror stories. We can learn, though, to write different narratives.
In this one, Oreo the cat - having grown old - died a peaceful death in a place of her choosing.