Max finally came home. I had let him out first thing in the morning, he walked me down to the newspaper tube and then disappeared into the woods. It was a very chilly morning, so cold I'd turned on the lightbulb in the pump house to keep the pump from freezing, and his normal habit on such a morning is to reappear for a snack and a warm-up about mid morning.
Yesterday he didn't show up in the morning but I wasn't too worried and assumed he would be home when I got home from my afternoon rehearsal. But he wasn't. So I ate supper, went off to my meeting at 7, hoping he would be home by 9, when I'd be back myself. But he wasn't.
I turned the porch light on so I could see him if he showed up on the deck and delayed going to bed, reasoning that he surely would be home soon. When 10 p.m. rolled around, I got to worrying.
Tuesday, I'd noticed that there were rabbit remnants on the lawn fairly far from the house, but they looked more like the work of a larger animal than Max the Murderous. All that remained of the rabbit was scraps of fur and a glop of entrails. Coyote or eagle, I figured, not Max.
And then he didn't come home Wednesday night. While I lay awake, listening for his soft mew at the window (for a murderer, he surely has a tiny voice), I went over in my mind how it would be if he never came home again. And I have to say that I was torn between relief that there would be no more puddles on the bed and the terror that he might have suffered some dreadful fate. My prayer in the middle of the night was "please, God, bring him home soon OR let him die painlessly".
At three a.m., there was a tiny pat on the window. Luckily I had been awake since 2 a.m., watching the clock and worrying, so when the pat came (no mew, unless my virus-stuffed ears didn't pick it up), I turned toward the window, saw a faint white blur, and rushed to open it up. No apologies, no explanations, just a blithe saunter through the window and onto the bed, where I scooped him up, he purred madly against my shoulder, and then we went out to the kitchen where I groggily spooned out a can of catfood for him and then went back to bed.
Whew!
12 comments:
That is such a telling photo of your man's attitude, isn't it? sorry for your stress, glad he decided to come back.
Isn't it though? Worrying about him reminds me of the times I'd stay awake for hours until my son would roll in from wherever he had been with friends until the wee hours!
Of course there was no explanation, no apology! Cats only feel guilt (if ever) over something they have done directly to you, like scratching you unintentionally. (intentional scratches they feel you earned somehow) But they never apologize for BEING a cat! That's the difference between a truly domesticated animal like a dog or a horse, and a merely acclimated to humans animal like a cat... we don't own cats, we merely share our lives with them.
Sadly true, Joel. Though he did purr as though he were glad to be home. A mere sop to my wounds, I fear. At least my teenage son always apologized!
Mine once got himself trapped in the neighbor's basement and only managed to make that fact known after I'd canvassed the neighborhood with fliers deploring "Have You Seen Me?" And I was expected to give the apology. Surely I should have known he needed rescuing. He was right. I should have.
I know what you mean, Yvonne, I've making over him like a fool all day as he snores on the bed.
Max The Murderous isn't *really* all that more murderous than your typical human omnivore, which needless to say is inclusive of carnivore, Ms. Kitty. Indeed he may well be less so in terms of the overall and/or relative quantity of "murder" committed. Surely you have heard the slogan 'Meat Is Murder'*? We non-vegetarian and non-vegan human beings are just more genteel about *our* "murderousness". We hire professionals to do *our* dirty work.
* I will spare you the YouTube video(s) I *could* link to.
I know, Robin. But it's pretty disgusting when he leaves innards all over the deck. I guess slaughterhouses are pretty gross too. We humans are just as much animals as he is, aren't we?
More or less Ms. Kitty. In some ways less, but when it comes to being "murderous" we, well *some* of us anyway, can make Max The Murderous look like the sweet little pussy cat that he is. . . Don't you think?
Kit, I'm so glad Max decided to come back. My aunt's white cat left home last month and is probably still roaming around the island somewhere; hopefully she has a new home.
And he reeked of catnip, too, didn't he? The little scamp! I'm glad he came home for you and gave you some relief. Indeed, how these little furry beings invade our lives. And don't feel bad about the relief at no more peeing on the bed--I've occasionally chastised myself for thinking of relief when my Maddy passes from her cancer and I will no longer have to medicate her.
Oh, Pixie, how did you know? And the feather stuck in his whiskers---what's a mother to do?
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