The prodigal cat

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So we went to camp for a few days and entrusted the care of the cats and our loyal dog Otto to a neighbor.  This neighbor is a true gem; she even took Otto to stay with her at her house for the night of the 4th, which was good because from what I hear it was like a war zone around here.  Say what you will about the rednecks of Vantucky — we are nothing if not patriotic.

Well, okay.  Maybe it isn’t so much “patriotic” as it is “willing to spend most of our money on fireworks.”  That being said, I’m happy to report that the house is still standing and does not appear to be singed, at least not anywhere that I can see.

Hermione the bomb-proof cat was in attendance when we arrived home around lunchtime on Saturday, and the neighbor brought Otto by as soon as I called, but Heals was worryingly absent.  He is inclined to cat about the neighborhood using the pet door as license to come and go as he pleases, and when the weather is fine he may not show up here for a day or so, but I was concerned that perhaps he’d gotten frightened or hurt in all the hubbub of Independence Day.  I began to fret openly before going to bed Sunday night.  I am ridiculously attached to that cat, and we so recently lost Grandpa.  And where there are rednecks and fireworks, there are accidents and there are things that are not accidental at all.

I don’t know what time it was but at some point in the night I was awakened to the raspy, desperate meowing of Himself.  He came bounding in and vaulted himself onto us, rubbing his face all over us and purring madly.  This went on for some time until he broke free, probably to eat, and he later returned to continue inflicting his affections on us.  I soaked it up.  There is such pure joy in a returned cat.

This morning he would not leave me alone as I prepared for work, attacking my feet in the hall and yelling at me from the bathroom counter.  I spent the first half of the workday spitting out cat hairs and smiling.

 

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