A couple of years later, Helene and I broke up, and I eventually moved to Orlando, bringing Mao with me. For six months, from April to September, I lived on the porch of my aunt’s house in St. Cloud. Mao was very upset with the move, but she slept near me every night, purring like a deisel engine. When I got my own place she was again upset with the move, but happy to discover that the new house had less people living in it, and thus more room for her.
Less than two months later, I let her out one morning as I left for work. I came home well after dark, and she wasn’t at the door waiting for me. The next morning, she still wasn’t at the door, and I began to worry. When there was still no sign of her that evening, I knew something was wrong. I printed up “LOST” fliers and posted them on mailboxes, telephone poles, fences… I gave one to the guys at the Fire House down the street, to most of the neighbors, and brought one to the Kissimmee animal shelter in case she turned up there.
For more than a month I spent several hours a day after work looking for her, calling her name, hoping that she was just lost and would come to my voice, but no luck. She was gone, vanished, and I blamed myself for letting her out unsupervised before she knew our new home well. For months I checked the shelter regularly, but I never found her, and the good folks working there assured me they hadn’t had her brought in. I was beside myself for having failed in my responsibility, depressed at what I saw as somehow abandoning this poor cat because I had to go to work.
Imagine my surprise then, some 14 months later. I was jogging the same route I had used for more than a year, when in the dusky light I saw something dart across the road and into the trees. I called out and she stopped, but the noise of passing traffic scared her and she plunged into the swampy forest. I called and called, but it was soon dark and I had to give up the search. Every moment away from work was spent in the area, looking for her and calling her name. Two weeks later, I saw her again. She ran into a fenced yard, but I could plainly see her. I ran the mile or so back to the house, and got my car.
The people living in the house were a bit surprised when I knocked on the door and explained that I wanted to drive my car into their backyard in order to catch a cat, but they acquiesced and opened the gate for me. After nearly 30 minutes of cajoling, I managed to throw a towel over her, grab her, and toss her into the car. I jumped in the driver’s seat, slammed the door shut and hollered my thanks as I drove back onto the street, my precious little girl mewling painfully from the floorboards of the passenger seat. Skinny from a year of picking through garbage, she hissed and spit at me as I picked her up again, and fought to get free… lemme tell you, a 20 pound cat with a full set of claws is no picnic to carry 50 yards. It oughta be an Olympic event, but I bet no one can get proper insurance for it.
Anyway, once I had her inside with the door closed, she immediately settled down. It was as though she recognized the place, knew she was home at last, and was grateful. For months she would sit next to me wherever I was and just purr. I beamed at how very very lucky I was to have her back in my life, and decided that she needed to stay indoors for her own good. Mao never seemed inclined to go out after that, either, so I never felt like I was depriving her of anything.
