Five years later, they found the truck. Crazy that it took them so long to find it. You’d have thought someone would have noticed it rusting in that field.
They never found her, though. She would have been ten years old by then. He’d have given her another identity. In time she would have forgotten us, her kitten, her mother, and me.
He would have found her another kitten by then. He was good that way.
He’d left the truck behind to rot. He left us behind to grieve. And he carried her away to another future, one without us.