There was a series of cats named Muffin, all agreeable tabbies, patient with children, and fertile. Back then there was no extra money for veterinarian visits, no coddling allowed, in fact, no inside house time at all, unless the weather turned brutal. Disappearances were common.
My dad said, “Cats run away – they do.”
He knew better.
365/radical elements 
My in-laws used to live on a farm west of Chicago that we called the kitty farm because there were so many cats there. We took two home about 21 years ago. There were a multitude of ways to die on that farm if you were a cat. Not long after we took the cats there were hardly any cats there at all. Our Halloween was the last kitty farm cat to die a year ago last November.
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This sounds just like our cats on the farm. Except my father was more honest. As children, we played with the kittens when they were discovered, accepted their absence in the same way we knew the lambs we fed were bound for a dinner plate.
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