Thursday, July 28, 2016
Today I am grateful we found the rental grand-cat. Yesterday we had heart attacks. Many. Both of us. One of my friends has her grandsons visiting her and they played board games with Himself while she worked and I went to a never-ending eye doctor appointment.
Okay, sounds simple enough, right? When my son and his family were here, that cat took off and didn’t come out until the minute their car started out of the development. She likes to hide. Yet after those kids left and Himself got back from shooting a bucket of balls at the driving range, he says, “I haven’t seen the cat since the boys left.” What? Haven’t seen the cat? Heart attack one.
So we searched. I called my friend to see if one of the boys innocently saw the cat exit the building. They hadn’t. The last time they saw her was in the basement. . .a mecca for a curious cat. Which all cats are. But “saw her” were the operative words. So Himself searched there with a flashlight. I searched the high spots on the main floor, where she loves to perch.
And we called her, which is the most ridiculous part of this equation because I have never known a cat to come when you call. . .unless they want to. . .and then maybe only once, just to seduce you into thinking they will always come. They never will. Ever. Cats are not needy like dogs, lapping at your hand and hopping around for attention. Cats don’t give a crap. They like you but only on their terms.
We could not find Ruby. Anywhere. Heart attack two. We even looked in the dryer because the kids had dried some clothes. Nope. I searched the garage. Nope. Himself turned the too-heavy couch over. No cat. He took a flashlight and crawled under the bed. Uh-uh, nope. We opened the front door and he got the hose out and sprayed the front flowers, because if she was hiding in them she would surely bolt for the house. No Ruby. Anywhere. Heart attack 400.
Himself decided to walk the neighborhood before it got dark. With flashlight and the brush she loves, off he went to walk the path, though I think it was simply his form of tearing sheets and boiling water in an emergency. “Where could she be?” he asked, upon his return.
“She’s a cat!” I reminded him, like either of us needed reminding at this point. “If a cat doesn’t want to be found. . .a cat won’t be found.” I once had a cat missing in the house for two whole days. She was nestled onto a furnace duct, sleeping like a, well, a CAT! Bitch! “I say we settle in like we usually do and just watch Jeopardy. Maybe she’ll come out and start pestering us like she always does.”
Thirty minutes later my friend called to see if we had found her. Nope. Heart attacks all around. Now she was having one, too, lining her grandsons up for questioning like it was the inquisition. I had just hung up the phone when princess-I’m-gonna-smack-you-in-the-face-with-my-tail-and-why-didn’t-you-wake-me-for-my-brushing, sashayed into the room. Seriously!?
We think she was in the basement, but we can’t be sure because we had every closet, hall, bathroom, etc. door open just in case. How many heart attacks can you have in one day? Himself poured me a nice little glass of orange vodka while I pondered where she might have been. She’s not telling. Ruby’s a cat. And she does it very well!