The Prodigal Returns

After round two at the food bowl

Yesterday was our wedding anniversary. For three days, I had left the front door open just in case Patty the cat decided to (or found a way to) return home.

I prayed to Steve to go find her and guide her home. I left cat food on the doorstep, just in case. Once I posted the last entry here, I got e-mails and phone calls, everyone with suggestions, condolences, hopeful words of encouragement.

But yesterday, I told myself that if she did not return that evening, I would stop leaving the door open. That's when I prayed to Steve to help her. It could be his anniversary present to me. Then midnight came and went, I closed the door and accepted the inevitable.

I had dreams of Patty, over and over, last night. I awoke feeling like I never wanted to stand up again. But the conscious (and conscientious) part of me kicked in, and I got up to greet the day. After my morning routine (such as it is), I went to the garage to go do some shopping. I pushed the garage door opener, and the assembly let out its great moan and chunk. At just that moment, I saw a tricolored tail dart from under the car into the storage cubby under the stairs.

Could be Patty, could be a stray. I had been down here three times already, calling her name.

"Patty." I made it singsong and happy sounding. No response. I repeated it, and after a beat, a desperate yowl replied from behind the file drawers. I cleared out enough of the stored stuff to get a look behind the drawers, and sure enough, there was one freaked out Pitty Pat. I kept calling to her, but she was doing her Tippi Hedrin zombie freak from "The Birds."

So I went upstairs (making sure to prop the door to the garage open) and got her a bowl of canned food and put it on the stairs leading up to house. I expected her to smell it and dash to eat, but that wasn't the case. So I got the bowl and put it up where it normally goes. I sat down and turned on the TV, a sound she knows.

Sure enough, ten minutes later she was sticking her head around the corner, then dashing upstairs to hide. I went down and closed the door to the garage, then came back up and called to her, which got a yowl of desperation once again. (These would continue for the next hour or so.) After about five minutes, she came back downstairs, made an olfactory inventory of the area, then hopped up onto the couch next to me, as she was ready for a reunion.

That's about it. She's been back to the food and water for a third time, cleaning after each snack. I need to get back to packing, but I don't want to freak her out with it. We'll see how it all comes down.

I have reflected upon this experience, and I think it's God's way of telling me I have to get out more: If I was in the habit of a daily drive for errands and such, I might have found her a day or two earlier.

In any case, my roommate and companion is back in the living quarters once more and things don't feel so terribly empty.

And I didn't waste good money on the Pet Tube.