Last Updated on May 20, 2026 by admin
She was a seal-point Siamese. Twelve years old. Her name was June, and she belonged to a woman named Jody.
In January of last year, Jody loaded up a moving truck in Alabama and drove to Arkansas. June rode in the cab.
Somewhere in that move — somewhere between Alabama and the new house in Arkansas — June got out.
For thirteen months, Jody looked. She put up flyers. She joined every “lost cats” Facebook group within a four-state radius. She drove the route between the old place and the new place more times than she counts.
June was a microchipped cat. She was chipped before the move. The chip number was correct. The phone number was correct. The information had been updated when Jody changed addresses, the way you’re supposed to.
The chip was, all thirteen months, doing its job.
It was waiting.
In March, a Good Samaritan in rural Arkansas — a few towns over from where June had vanished — picked up a thin seal-point Siamese near a barn. She brought the cat to her vet.
The vet ran a scanner.
The number that came up was a phone number Jody had not changed in fourteen months.
It rang.
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