Jeff Goins My 500 Word writing challenge has given me the opportunity to write freely. Some things I may never use, but today, my writing took a bit different direction. I hope you enjoy the story of my disappearing cat.
A month ago, we owned a cat. One cat. He had lived in our home for over two years, having come to us at the age of six months. We named him Cruz. He was black and white with this cute little black spot beneath his chin.
We spoiled him. He loved to curl up on the couch between us, or lay between John’s legs on the recliner, or on our bed during the day.
Cruz was a playful cat—always wanted to be in the bedroom when we were getting dressed for work so that he could play with my socks or John’s keys. He never passed up an opportunity to slap at John’s Chap Stick and on more than one occasion, we found “missing” tubes beneath the bed.
He also loved to “help” with laundry—climbing on his cat tree and slapping at clothes when I transferred them from the washer to the dryer.
Cruz was a curious cat—always peeking out the windows or sticking his head near the door when we walked outside. He never could leave the Christmas tree alone. Something about that sparkling tinsel was too much for him to resist and often got him in trouble.
Of course, curiosity is natural for cats and his curiosity led him to becoming a prodigal. When he was almost one year old, he snuck out the door, but he came home the next morning. We thought he had learned his lesson until…
Christmas Eve. He slipped out the front door without my knowledge. We discovered him missing about ten minutes later and found him in the front flowerbed. But no amount of coaxing would make him come to either of us.
When we approached him, he ran to the back yard. Again, we got close to him, and he ran to the front. The cycle repeated a couple of times, until finally he jumped off the front porch. We didn’t see him again.
We missed him. Both of us had grown accustomed to having a cat in the house. A few days later, when we learned of someone needing to find a home for their fourteen-week-old kitten, I messaged her that we might be interested. She sent a text message with photos…
One look and… well, once again, we owned a cat. One cat. A black and white cat with a cute little black mark beneath his chin. A very playful cat. Tucker likes to sleep on our bed, curl up between us on the couch, or between John’s legs in the recliner. He’s usually in the bedroom while we’re getting dressed for work, slapping at socks or playing with John’s keys. Sound familiar?
Life settled into a routine and we resigned ourselves to the fact that Cruz had met some misfortune. On Monday morning, three weeks after his disappearance, I heard a faint “meow” outside. I grabbed the flashlight and went to investigate. Sitting on the front steps, peering over the edge of the deck was a black and white cat.
The neighbor’s dogs began to bark. The cat ran beneath the house. I didn’t see him again until today while feeding our dog Maggie. He was at our barn. He acts like he wants to come, but didn’t want to cross paths with Maggie. Maybe he wants to be our part time cat.
So now, do we own 1 cat, 1.5 cats, or 2 cats? Only time will tell.
General Price don’t belong to me. He just rooms with me. Cats don’t belong to nobody. ‘Course, I depend on him. ~John Wayne as Rooster Cogburn in True Grit
Have you ever owned a disappearing cat? I’d love to hear your story.