Part I:
Confession of a Wannabe Cat Lady
I let my cat go outside, unsupervised.
It's true.
This
wasn’t always the case. At first, when he was a mere 12 weeks old, I would only
allow him on the balcony after I’d tested the length of the leash to ensure he
could not jump or fall the three stories down. And I would also take him out –
yes, on a leash – despite all the looks and comments from apartment neighbors.
And he was ok with it – at first. And then, of course, Houdini blood began to
run through his feline veins, and he found magical ways out of the harness. This lead
to compromise: I would take him out and walk/ trot near him while he frolicked in
the yards of the complex, unleashed. I would even talk him down when he’d climbed too
high up a tree. Before long, I began to allow him more freedom, and the more I
allowed, the more he demanded, and eventually, I had myself an indoor-outdoor cat
(unsupervised in both arenas).
When I first
allowed him to go out on his own, I remained in a state of panic the entire
time. “This is what the mother of a teenager feels like,” I just knew it. It
started with a half hour, then an hour, then he wanted more, more, more! I’d leave the balcony door open, so that I could listen for him,
and so that I could quickly step outside and peek over the railing to see him sniffing
around in the grass. He was great about staying close-by. Of course, he got more
and more brave and adventurous, and the circumference of his circle of
territory expanded. Regardless, when I’d go out to get him, I would click my
tongue, and he would come running back to me. This gave me confidence that he
could handle the outdoors and I could stay sane knowing he would come when I
called.
Part II:
The Day He Didn’t Come
One evening,
it was time for him to come home, and I went out to call for him, but there were
no signs of him, anywhere. He wasn’t flopping around in the median across the
lot where they’d just planted fun plants to play in. He wasn’t snooping around
the building in the bushes or sneaking-up on a dog out for his evening pee. He didn’t come when I called around the area of the
golf course. There were no signs of him when I went on the opposite side, by the field. Nothing.
Not a hint of him anywhere. And panic set in. Sheer, physical breakdown ensued,
starting with a rapid heartbeat, shallow breath, and soon after, tears and
shakiness. I knew I would never forgive myself if something happened to him.
The guilt of being an unfit cat-mother. The shame I would face from people who don’t approve of letting cats outdoors.
It all flew in and around my mind incessantly. Then it hit me: He’s in someone’s apartment. I was
absolutely certain. No doubt in my mind. I rushed to get my husband and I told
him of this conspiracy of which I was certain. Compassionate as he is, he went
on his own cat-search. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. I was sobbing as I continued my
own search, when finally, after a good hour or more of the frantic search, I spotted him in the breezeway on the main floor. A
neighbor was stooping down, petting him. “Oh, is this your cat?” she asked as I
made my way to him, scooping him up. Our brief conversation consisted of her
telling me she had just gotten home and found him in the hallway. My first
instinct? Yeah, right, skank. (Only
thoughts; not spoken.) Later that night, I deemed myself crazy and paranoid, and
could not believe that I’d doubted the neighbor gal. I had come to the conclusion that he'd probably just ventured
too far.
Well, no
matter what, that wasn’t an experience I was willing to endure again, so I ended up
purchasing a $100 tracker that attaches to the collar and has a 400-yard signal,
and this, my friends, would save me future heartache.
Fact.
Part III: A New Year’s
Resolution is Born
More and
more over the past year, I have discovered evidence of my intuition serving me,
yet I denied the grace of its presence, for whatever reason. I tended to
explain things away; to think that I was blowing things out of proportion; that
my imagination was getting the best of me. To no avail, evidence would surface that my initial thoughts were, in fact, quite accurate.
The other
night, JoJo had been out for plenty of the evening when I grabbed the remote to
his tracking collar and headed out the door. A fleeting thought appeared: He’s in someone’s apartment. There was
that ridiculous notion, yet again. I turned in a circle with the remote in
hand, per the instructions, and headed down the steps. Strangely enough, it
beeped erratically before I even hit the second level, so I thought maybe he
was chillin’ on the rooftop: “Oh, this
should be easy. He’s right here somewhere.” But he wasn’t on the roof. So I
proceeded downstairs. "He must be in the
tree," which he had been in before.
But, no,
he wasn’t in the tree.
I heard a
door open on the main floor, so I turned to look over my shoulder, and out struts the broad-chested stud himself. My
mouth gaped and grinned and I moved toward him. Neighbor chick: “Oh, is it
yours?” (De ja vous?) His collar still beeped from my tracker so I clicked it
off. I claimed him and she said that she was in the process of moving and found
him. I didn’t trust her shifty mannerisms or her words when she proclaimed to
have seen his name on the name tag “but nothing else.” Why on Earth would you
say you saw nothing else, if anything else was to be seen?! For the record,
directly beneath his name on his collar is my cell number in the same size and
font. …Not to be accusatory or negative, or anything... I walked toward her
with a smile as she continued to tell me that he ran into her apartment as she
was trying to move her things out. I apologized for the inconvenience but she went
on to tell me how much she loves cats, and I know a bewildered look overtook my
face, as I know that JoJo does not typically volunteer himself into closed
doors on a fair-weather evening. And her uneasiness and shifty eyes and ill-put
alibi red-flagged my intuition. At which point, the memories resurfaced of the
night I lost JoJo and how I was at first convinced that he was in someone’s
apartment but then later laughed it off to paranoia. It was the same neighbor.
I good and
well know that he was in her apartment that night several months back, and that
it was not by his doing or by accident that he wound up in her apartment again.
That tracker was the best $100 I have spent in a good
while. It not only helps me find my Kitty Mr. Love Ball, but it provided me with a valid New Year’s Resolution: this year, I absolve to listen
to and trust my intuition ... unfalteringly.
I will trust my instincts and not laugh them off or excuse them at any cost.
They’ve more than proven their worth.
Best to all in 2014.
