Cat Acquired - And Lost

The cat arrived on Thursday. Apparently, my friend-the-owner cried when she left…

Then, the cat had one quiet night. Then he very likely decided he didn’t know where he was, and despite adequate company, good food and clean litter, he bit my hand then tore down my curtains on Friday, and pushed out and escaped through a screen on a second floor window on Saturday night. I’m mortified – worried about him – but even more worried about how its owner will feel when we have to tell her.

I’ve made posters, canvassed the area, called the police in two municipalities, and left a description with the Humane Society. I’ve called the owners mother – and much to my embarrassment, started to cry on the phone… “It’s not your fault,” she said…

Now that I was on a roll, I called everyone, to various degrees of making myself feel better… It was a mixed bag:

Called Police: Within 5 minutes, one of the local police left a message, while I was on the phone with owner’s mother… “I saw a cat around St. Mary’s – heading towards Front. Great.

While in the car canvassing, I spoke with the humane society: left description

Called Dave: “No more cats, Kelly… Stupid cat… It's not your fault.”

Called Stephanie, friend of the owner: No answer

Called my father (why? Why? Why?): Kelly – it’s a cat. Forget about it.

I’m now sobbing…. And asked to speak to my mother… who said essentially the same thing, but in a slightly nicer way. She also mentioned that it was not my fault...

My father was so upset that he upset me, he called Dave, explaining that he said the wrong thing (I know he should have called ME to say that – but he’s my dad and I love him anyway)

An hour later, Fran shows up – because we have a gig. I pull him in the car and we canvas again. I question my sanity in thinking I might be a cat person… I once owned a cat – but I now think I only liked THAT cat.

We need to leave for our gig... I told the band that if we didn't speak of the cat, I wouldn't cry.

Stephanie called: After reiterating that this was not my fault, she was a dear and not only recruited our friend Mark to canvas, but stuck a photo of the offending escapee on my door… I made posters later…

That was the rescue effort to date. This morning, the cat did not return, despite the food and his bed left by the front door.

This is the absolute worst thing that’s happened to me in a loooong time. I’m hoping someone finds him…

Epilogue: Dave says I’m not allowed to cat sit anymore. He even cited the fact that cats I’ve taken in the past could have just as easily escaped (um… it probably didn’t matter that they didn’t escape and were returned successfully to the owner…) but... now you've heard it - no more cats. I think my churning stomach and crazy dreams are okay with that. I still feel like it's my fault.

Oreo? If you're reading this - you're a whole lot of trouble, but come back anyway.