Our cat was lost.
But now he's found.
Last night he bolted out the door and over the fence before I could even scream, "Ollie, get back in here!" I waited and called for him and called for him and waited but he didn't come. I dreamed that he crawled home with a giant bloody laceration on his face. I knew he'd be waiting by the door this morning, ticked that someone hadn't been standing there to let him in when he got the random whim to come home. He wasn't.
And he wasn't there when I got home from Bible study and my trip to the store. And he didn't come when I called. And all of this was extremely weird for this particular cat who rarely ventures very far from his gas fireplace or his own personal chair.
I felt bad. I'd scolded him yesterday when I found millions of his little gray hairs on a couch he is not allowed anywhere near. So I kept calling for him and I kept peering over the neighbors' fences and I imagined the very worst.
I imagined catnappers.
I imagined cat pancake in the middle of the road.
I imagined that he'd never come home.
I watched my son pile up all Oliver's cat toys. "Mommy," he said with a pained tone, "now if he comes home and looks through the window he'll see his toys and he'll know he lives here."
I watched him take his flashlight outside--in broad daylight--to search for his kitty.
I listened as he whimpered, "Mom, why would he run away? He lives here. We're his family."
I took that opportunity to discourage my son from ever getting the notion that he should grow up and run away.
A few moments ago Garrett came running in the house screaming that he'd heard a meow. He hears alligators, elephants, and parakeets where there are none so I wasn't holding out much hope. He said that he shook the wood "door" on the shed and heard a meow. I peered into the shed. Sure enough, sitting on top of the balls in our shed was the runaway cat. I have no idea why he was there, why he hadn't come in to eat, or what on earth his story is. I do know that I picked him up, brought him in, and put him in his cat box.
He's acting funny. He's acting, kind of, like he has no idea who any of us are. So then, what exactly did he do with his exciting night on the town and did it cause a kitty hangover? Kitty amnesia? I guess we'll never really know.