This happened a couple of weeks ago. Maybe the trauma of that night will fade if I post about it here.
I came home from work, and as usual at this time of year, it was dark as midnight outside. It was also cold. Unseasonably cold. So, I tried to open the back door quickly, but my cat Tippy nosed her way outside, and began her daily rubbing herself on the porch railing. (She knows her scent rubs are the only thing keeping intruders from taking over our apartment. My monthly rent checks have nothing to do with it.)
I pleaded with her to hurry up because it was cold outside, dammit, and finally I got her to go back inside. It was dark in my apartment and I heard something fall over. I yelled. I saw an animal skittering away, but whether it was Buffy or Jody (my other two cats) I couldn’t tell. Buffy is a tortoise shell and Jody is a dark grey, and you can’t really tell them apart in the dark.
Okay, fine, inside, door closed, coat off. Time to feed the kitties. So I open three cans of food, and dump and chop the contents up in three little bowls, and bend over to place them on the floor.
And only two cats, Tippy and Buffy, are ready to dig in. Jody is nowhere in sight.
No big deal. Maybe he’s still hiding after knocking something over. So, I pick up the dry cat food bag and start shaking it noisily while calling him. Tippy and Buffy munch away, unconcerned. No Jody though.
Okay, I think. Maybe he slipped outside while I was trying to get Tippy back inside. He’s a quick little bugger. I open the back door. No Jody waiting to come in to supper. I call his name, still shaking the rattling bag, and go outside without my coat. Damn, it’s cold. I clamber down the stairs, searching into the dark, but I don’t see any movement. It’s so dark that I’m not certain I would even see Jody if he did run across my path. I’m still rattling the bag and calling. Nothing.
I go back inside, and Buffy is nibbling at her bowl, but Two Ton Tippy has finished her plate and started in on Jody’s dinner. I snap on all the lights and start searching all the usual hiding places. It’s a small apartment, and there’s not a lot of places to look through. No Jody anywhere. I dig in closets, move furniture around, pull my mattress off my bed. Nope.
I’m trying to ignore the panic growing at the base of my skull. Skipping dinner is not Jody’s style at all. Also I can remember years ago, when one of my cats didn’t come to breakfast, and we found her deep in a closet, deathly sick. Jody has to be here. I try to remember the animal I saw skittering away when I came in the apartment. Maybe he’s just hiding because I yelled? But more unease crawls up my back. What if that animal I saw was Buffy? What if Jody got out when I left for work in the morning, and I didn’t notice because I was busy with the garbage bags? He would’ve been out in the cold all day. He could be anywhere!
Stop it, stop it! I think to myself. He has to be somewhere. I search the hiding spots again. I look out into the front hallway, even though he couldn’t have gotten through the locked front door. I take my key and go out again. Up to the third floor of the building’s back stairs. Calling, calling. My neighbors must think I’m nuts. I go to the laundry room on the other side of the building. It’s warm there, and if he was out here in the cold, he might go there. I search the laundry room, all the time thinking, Hey Stupid, how could he get in here? Someone would have to let him in. I tell myself shut-up and don’t call me Stupid.
I give up and go back inside my place. I’m worried now. I’m breathing heavy. I’m yelling, “Not you!” at Buffy and Tippy who are following me around, answering my calls.
I stop and try to calm down. Besides the dry cat food bag, is there anything else that Jody will come to see? I think. I get an idea.
The bathroom is across from my bedroom. I reach in and slap the toilet seat lid back against the tank with a loud clank. I yank down my pants and sit down heavily. I clench my kegel muscles and strain myself trying to make my pee stream hit the water under me as sharp as possible. And I watch through the open door.
And way across my bedroom, up pops a little grey head from beneath the headboard of my stripped
and destroyed bed. Jody squeezes out from the pile of fabric and patters over. He has to make sure I pee correctly after all. That’s a sacred duty.
I flush, clean up and sit down on my papasan couch. And I shake for a half an hour. But I don’t mind.