I've lost my cat.
No, not Nina the Wonder Lump, aka Jabba the Cat. No, Dizzy, the yellow cat, aka The Pisser.
I haven't actually lost him. It's not like I put him down somewhere and forgot where I left him. He walked out the front door yesterday afternoon and I haven't seen him since. I'm worried, really worried. I miss him, the little shit. I want him home with me where the only thing he has to fear is my foot if he pees in my bed again.
Oh yeah, the cat has urinated where I sleep and I still want him to come home.
The damn cat has pissed on my bed (hence the nickname) no less than 10 times. He howls incessantly when he wants to go out, or come in, and if I don't answer his death screams he rips the weather stripping around my front door to shreds. He's also destroyed a couch and the arm of one chair with his talons, which is preferable to what he could do to my skin if I were to pet him one second longer than what he would like.
But Dizzy loves to snuggle on my shoulder, his purring sounding like a chain saw in my ear. When I'm outside walking with Chicky he'll follow us around our cul-de-sac and then he'll sit on our stairs waiting for us to come home. He's affectionate with my little girl no matter how many times she pulls on his tail or thumps him with a drum stick. He's the dog I always wanted.
Mr. C and I have an idea of what might have happened. 1) He wandered into someone's shed or garage and got stuck there, 2) He's been injured, either by car or neighborhood dog, or 3) He was mistaken for another neighborhood cat who has been lost for the last two weeks and was delivered to that home.
I no longer have the flyer about the other lost cat and I have no idea where that home is exactly so I can't go knocking on their door to find out if they have Dizzy. I can only wait and wonder. And stare out the window like a worried mother whose child has broken curfew.
I miss my cat and I'd really like him to come home now. A cat, I'm all worked up about a damn cat. I feel a little foolish. But I promise, if he comes home I'll stop threatening him with taxidermy. I'll stop telling him he'd look really good as a fur scarf. I won't even be mad if he shows up at my door, clawing the weather stripping at 3am. I just want to know he's safe.