My used, imported cat is still hiding. I prefer imported cats over domestic. My uncles Denny and Hank, who own a Chrysler dealership, get very upset with me about this, telling me I am taking food from American workers’ mouths every time I get an imported cat, but I say as soon as American workers can make a cat as good as the Siamese can, I will get one.
I know that Giovanni? Giuseppe? Sergei? Clarence? Francoise? Alphonse? Sebastian? Jean-Marie? Bob? did explore the house last night after I went to bed. I found clues. It’s not surprising that he is still hiding. When you have spent the last year of your life in a small cage, it must be terrifying to be thrown into a box and moved into a house with someone you have never seen before. I would hide, too, while I tried to figure out what was going on.
I wanted to be Nancy Drew when I was a little girl. It still seems like a pretty good gig. I especially like the titian hair.Source: http://www.the-forum.com/books/images/drew.jpg
Here is the evidence that whatever-his-name is (not that the name matters – it is not as if cats come when you call) traipsed about the place last night:
1. Asok was hiding under the couch last night and was hiding under the guest bed this morning.
2. I heard Charlie clumping about the kitchen last night. He must have missed the part of his training where they taught him to be sneaky and quiet.
3. Zorro used the litter box last night. Whew. One of the questions on the cat rescue place was what would I do if the cat did not use the litter box. (It was phrased more cutesy as “What if the cat has an ‘out of the box experience?’”) I answered that I would clean it up. Really, what are the options here? Am I supposed to leave it? Fly into a rage?
4. Helmut ate some of his food.
5. I was about to fall asleep last night when I sensed a presence. I opened my eyes to see a furry face staring at me. Lorenzo had pulled himself up on the side of my bed with his front paws to see what was going on.
6. I found footprints on the toilet seat this morning. Malcolm must be kin to BethanyC’s Milton.
Dickens is still hiding under the bed. I check occasionally to see if he is there, but haven’t tried to get him out. He’ll come when he is ready.
When I picked him up yesterday afternoon, another lady was there getting a cat for her dad. His cat had died suddenly at the vet’s. He had left the cat there while he had gone out of town to a convention. He thinks the vet gave the cat too much diabetes medication.
The daughter drove all night from Florida to be with her dad. “He’s heartbroken,” she explained. “My mom died a couple of years ago. Prince is the only company he had. He had that cat for 12 years. I told him he has to get another one right away, but he said he didn’t think he could bear to pick one out. So I am getting one for him.”
People who have never had pets have no idea what it is like to lose one. When O’Malley died, I was a sophomore in college. My mom and I cried for days. My college boyfriend, who had never had a pet, had no sympathy. He did not understand at all.
But my family still talks about O’Malley. When my dad was dying, we had a bon voyage party at the hospice, complete with champagne and my aunt Pat’s Old Fashioneds. My dad’s brothers were there, along with my aunts, my grandmothers, my family, and some of my cousins. We talked about all the people my dad would see in heaven, including his dad, who had died when he was only in his late 50s, his best friend Harry Schantz, who had died in a ship fire, and O’Malley. Yes, I know theologians might dispute that, but how can it be heaven if your pets won’t be there?
0 comments:
Post a Comment