Just one year ago this month, I wrote a short saga ("Return of the Hunter") about the wanderings of one of my two black cats, Castor. He had wandered outside after dinner on Wednesday, and still hadn't returned when I went to bed Thursday night. Like any parent of an irresponsible teenager who isn't home by 3 a.m., I was prone to worry.
Worry? I was frantic. But there was nothing I could do.
The story had a happy ending. Castor returned between the time I went to bed at 10 p.m. and the time I arose at midnight to search the house once more for him. He once was lost, but now was found.
Not all such stories have happy endings. Sometimes the errant teenager swerves in front of traffic. He doesn't return.
Of such are now my dark thoughts. Castor, once again, is the "bad kitty." After dinner (my dinner) last night, he kept begging for more food. He's certainly not prone to fatness, at least at this age, so I kept feeding him. Finally, he was no longer interested in the food, but kept staring at me and mewing. He responded enthusiastically to being petted, and we frolicked together for much longer than usual. Both of my black cats are a bit stand-offish, except for those times when they aren't. When they are quite cuddly. So I was pleased, but not surprised.
Now I have those dark thoughts. Was he stuffing himself with food in preparation for a long journey? Worse, was he, as dying cats are wont to do, bidding me a fond farewell? An earlier 16-year-old cat, Theseus, who was to be tested for a possible tumor in a few days, woke me up one night, lying on my chest, and purred unusually loudly for ten minutes. Then he went downstairs, out the cat door, and out of my life. Never saw him again.
But he probably was dying and knew it. Castor is a happy, lively, healthy cat -- aside from his past urinary obstruction -- and hasn't yet turned two. He isn't dying of old age. But he still hasn't shown up.
I like to think that history repeats itself. That I'll wake up at midnight tonight and find him lying beside me, sound asleep. That we'll be back to normal, and will rejoice while I slip rich bon bons into both cats' mouths in celebration.
And that's probably what will happen. (Well, not the bon bons.) If not tonight at midnight, sometime in the next five days, which the internet assures me is a normal time for a normal cat to wander off on adventures of his own. Adventures whose nature you'll never learn. But adventures that never strain the mutual bonds of familial affection that hold your household together.
We'll just wait and see. Darn cat!
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P.S. (5-5-22) History repeats itself. Castor appeared on my bed at 2:30 a.m. last night, hungry but otherwise in good health. I broke our rule against preparing middle-of-the-night meals.
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