It's interesting. Many years ago we had a family cat named Frosty. She was born at home by a stray we had adopted - I guess she adopted us more accurately. We kept the runt of the litter. A little white girl. For several years she and her mom lived happily together until one day mom left having moved on to a new home several blocks away. She was a wanderer at heart and I was always amazed that her daughter didn't miss her. They had an agreement that we were Frosty's and, I guess, she was to take good care of us which she did. Our little girl was born in April 1959 and died in March 1980 five weeks short of her 21st birthday. She left a permanent mark on me that has lasted for 25 years since she left us. Do I regret knowing and loving her? Never. Do I miss her? Every day. Knowing her changed my life. A few pictures of her late in her life (I wish I had taken more pictures of her!)