Where Oh Where Has My Little Cat Gone?

Friday, I worked from home while we were having carpet installed in the three bedrooms. At this point, Empire has redone all the floors in the house except for the kitchen. The guys came right at 9am, and got to work. About halfway through the job, I noticed one of the guys had left the front door open. I shut it, and when he came back in, I reminded him that I have a cat and the doors need to be kept CLOSED. Then I looked for Angel. And looked. And looked. I scoured the house top to bottom twice, and when one of the guys said he had seen Angel run down the stairs, I figured he HAD to have gone out the door.


Yeah, I panicked.


I looked all around the front yard, under the cars, up the trees, in my back yard, in the neighbor's back yard. I called him nicely, I called him frantically, I demanded he bring his butt back home. I walked down the street and begged for help from neighbors I had never met. I called Matt and demanded he come home from work. I called my mother and cried. I called Angel some more.


Nothing.


When I walked back to the house, one of the Empire workers (of course, the one who spoke little English) was waving me down and pointing in the house, and when I walked in, the other guy said he had found Angel, and pointed to the recliner.


I looked, but didn't see anything.





Then I got on my hands and knees and looked again.





Then I pressed my face to the floor, and sure enough, I saw the bottom half of the four-legged love of my life. And I told him as soon as he got out of there, I was going to kill him.





Cats have a reputation for being independent. Angel may be like that with most people, but not with his Mommy. He is at the foot of the bed every morning when my alarm goes off, and when I start to stir, he walks up to me and purrs and combs my hair through his claws. When I swing my feet over the side of the bed, he tried to make the most of the swiftly fleeting lap. He circles my ankles when I go to the bathroom, follows me downstairs for a cup of cereal and back upstairs to eat it, usually demanding his share of milk with an insistent whine.


He sits on the toilet seat while I brush my teeth and wash my face, escorts me when I'm getting dressed, and "talks" to me as I do my hair and make-up. I think he's begging me not to leave.


I always tell him I love him and to have a good day when I head out the door, and just this morning wondered whether he watches me drive away. The thought breaks my heart a little.


In the evenings, he greets me at the door. Or, when the weather is nice and I have the upstairs window open, he yells his greeting from there while I come up the walk, and dashes to meet me when I'm putting my key in the door. Then he drives me insane as punishment for leaving him all day. He whines for his dinner, whines while I'm making mine, screeches the entire time Matt and I are at the dining room table, eating. Sometimes, we just put him up on the table to keep him quiet. On those occassions, he usually helps himself to Matt's glass of water, then lays down between our plates. Sometimes, when I'm done eating, I'll push my chair back and he'll jump in my lap and purr his approval.


At night, he sits on the toilet while I have my shower, then stands guard in the hallway, keeping his eye on me until I'm safely ensconced in bed. Depending on his mood, he may get in bed right away, or he may stay by the door for a while, watching over me.


No, Angel isn't independent when it comes to his mom. And I'm not very independent when it comes to him. I couldn't bear the thought of losing him, especially after Alex died. And I'm grateful he didn't stray far from his mom, even when the door was left open.