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April 13, 2006
Ode to a Lost (and Found) Cat
Dear Madchen,
When I woke up this morning at the crack of dawn (well, 8 a.m.) I had no idea that I would waste my morning searching for you, my cheerful-and-dumb 19-pound cat. My cat with an affinity for the great outdoors.
The Salvation Army was kind enough to haul away most of my bedroom furniture, making room for Ms. Red's furniture (well, my-furniture-that-Ms.-Red-borrowed-while-I-was-in-Sweden) to arrive next weeend. Unfortunately, they propped the front door open during the trips back and forth to the truck. When I saw that, I knew there was going to be trouble.
I remember the last time you escaped into the wild, an overnight adventure I was sure would end with your limp body being dragged into the woods by a happy fox. Upon finally finding you crouching in the bushes, I was none too pleased that I had to crawl in the brambles and pull you out--I mean, you are no spry thing, and my knees were bleeding before the adventure was over.
And yet this morning, the initial search of the yard proved nothing. Janie and I scoured the house to make sure you weren't hiding somewhere, checking under all the beds and in all the closets, opening all the doors to check that you weren't trapped. Yes, you were definitely outside.
Several times over the next 3 hours, I alternately searched the house and the yard, even going so far as to brave the poison ivy in the woods. And nothing. So when I sat down to eat a chocolate chip pancake on the front porch and watch Janie chase after bubbles in the yard, imagine my irritation when you suddenly appeared on the other side of the glass door, lolling on your back with all four paws in the air as if to say "gee, this hardwood floor is nice".
Frankly, I have no idea where you managed to tuck your rather rotund body to avoid notice. Casting my mind back, I remember no suspicious lumps under the bedclothes, no extra "pillow" on the couch. You, my dear Madchen, are a wonder.
And you're on your own the next time someone leaves the front door open.
