He Will Come Back

I'm sitting here fretting as my most beloved of pets is gallivanting around the neighborhood. John had to go to a sleep study this evening and requested that I close the garage door for him. He was running late, and I was downstairs anyway, doing laundry, so I could manage to press the button to put the garage door back down after he left. I suppose he expected me to be right there to close the door, or maybe he just didn't notice, but the door from the house to the garage didn't get closed all the way. So... door from house to garage open. Door from garage to great outdoors open. Asia's escape radar on full alert at all times. It all adds up to a housecat on the loose.

This makes me a very bad mommy. No, don't argue with me. It does. Let me tell you why. Sure, maybe an open door once in a while doesn't amount to much trouble, unless you're a bad parent. The open door could mean loads of trouble for my little one. Let's go down the list...

1 - He's a housecat. He's not used to being outside except for the screened porch on the side of the house. He's not streetwise. He's like sending a rich, snotnose brat into an inner city school. The wildest animals he encounters are our other cat, Biddy, and the dog. Sure, the dog can get a little annoying at times, but she doesn't bite or claw him up. He doesn't know anything about cars except that they take him to that very bad place that pokes him, which brings me to my second point...

2 - He hasn't been to the vet in almost four years. That alone makes me a horrible, awful, wretched, sad excuse for a mommy. I kept putting it off, and he was all healthy, and he didn't go outside, and I'm lazy, and there's the bill, and, and, and. He's not up to date on shots, which brings me to point number three...

3 - There has been a huge outbreak of rabies in the area along with that West Nile virus and God-knows-what-else. Rabies is so bad that the county dropped packets of fish-flavored rabies vaccine from airplanes. If he eats one, maybe I don't have anything to worry about in that arena, not that I won't take him to the vet anyway. Even if he did eat one of those, it won't keep him from getting torn up by a rabid raccoon. Raccoons are vicious enough as it is. A rabid one would most definitely tear my fur baby apart. Oh, and there's heartworm to worry about too. Didn't think cats can get heartworm? Think it's only a dog problem? Well they can, and it's not. Heartworm is even worse on cats than it is on dogs. Of course, my dopey kitty had to get out on a night after it poured down rain, and it always seems like mosquitoes are worse after rain. All it takes is one, little bite.

4 - I had him declawed when we got him. I wouldn't do it again if I had the choice, but I did it then. I didn't want him tearing up my beautiful, quality, twenty-year-old furniture or some dumb reason like that, even though having him shred that sofa and love seat would have probably done us a favor. Because I was an idiot, he's defenseless. So not only is he dumb as to the ways of the outdoor world, he's without the means to cope anyway.

5 - He doesn't wear a collar. He's never worn a collar, so now isn't exactly the time to start, but I probably should have had him in a collar from the very beginning. The dog has a collar with all kinds of identifying information on it. Neither of the cats wear collars. Neither of cats have a chip implanted in them like the dog does either. Again, I just assume that because they are indoor-only animals that they wouldn't need such a thing. So even if someone does find him, they won't know what to do with him. At least that would be better than seeing him lying by the side of the road.

If he went out right after John left, he'd be outside three hours by now. Hammy and I searched for him what could have been an hour after he escaped. We took flashlights, looked under cars and behind bushes, and called for him to no avail. We even got his food can and rattled it around, because that animal always thinks he's just starving to death. That didn't work either. Hammy finally went to bed, even though he doesn't think he can sleep. I knew I couldn't sleep well tonight anyway since John is gone for the night, but now I doubt I'll sleep at all. After both kids were in bed, I sat on the front steps, lay back, and looked up at the sky, hoping to see one of the meteors from the meteor shower, so I could wish on a falling star that my kitty would come home to me safely.

John would tell me that he'll be back and not to worry. He has always come back every time he's gotten out. And yes, he has gotten out before, but at least he'd been to the vet recently those other times. There weren't all kinds of rampant diseases out in the wild waiting for him either. He probably will come back by morning, like he has the other time we couldn't find him right after he escaped. Still, I worry about if he doesn't. I fear the worst. That's what mothers do, and he's my most favoritist furry child. I have visions in my head of all the cats I've ever seen lying by the side of the road, or worse, in the road after being hit by a car. I remember all the cats that just didn't come home at my grandma's house when I was little. I hear my grandma telling me about cats being killed by possums, 'coons, and other tomcats. I'm torturing myself, even though it's not doing a damn bit of good. None of it is going to bring my kitty home.

I can't even search for him anymore, because the kids are in bed, and John's away. I'm stuck at the house, just hoping Asia will feel my pain and longing and return. More likely, he will feel his stomach growling, because he's a pampered pet and doesn't know how to fend for himself. Oh my poor baby! I'd even take him off his diet for a night and give him all the food his floppy belly could handle if he just comes home. This is misery. Misery!

Now that I've vented a bit (and really don't feel an ounce better for it), I'm going to sit on the porch and read. I don't know what else to do right now.