Svea van der Hoorn

Some things we never find out

We never did find out what happened to her. She often disappeared but always came back. And then one morning, she wasn’t there. Morning time was not her usual disappearing time. Morning time was her time for sitting on the porch waiting for someone to wake, come downstairs and let her in.
Morning time was when she crept out from underneath the planks, hobbled up the three front stairs and flopped softly against the front door. Years before she’d learned that scratching, bouncing at the handle and yelping were no good. Only flopping with a gentle thump against the peeling paint on the hardwood got the door to open. Sometimes, after quite a delay. What she thought about while she lay there quietly panting, we never did know. She was just our Jess, our porch sleeper.
We never did find out what happened to her. We hoped she had not become a casualty of the early morning taxis racing along the tar road. We never did find out.

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