I did not like that cat, and he sure as hell didn’t care for me. There’s no getting around that fact. He had been the man of the house for 3 years before I came into his life, and he sure as hell didn’t appreciate getting demoted when my wife moved into my house with him and his brother, Mingus. His revenge was a constant stream of urine on just about everything I owned. Sportscoats, rugs, jeans…anything that fell beside my side of the bed had a pretty damn good chance of smelling like cat pee within 24 hours (I joked that my wife had trained this behavior so I’d pick up my stuff off the floor). He never sprayed anything that belonged to my wife.
He had a look in his eye too. I had tried to get on sportingly with him early in the relationship. but the look in his eye let me know that I needn’t bother. He was always going to hate me, and didn’t really care that I spent $1300 to get him surgery when he had bladder problems. That stopped him from peeing on the couch, but not on my clothes.
And so our relationship was one of mutual disrespect, just him peeing and me screaming, and occasionally passing each other in the hallways silently. He loved my wife, though. Man, how he adored her. He would wake her up early in the mornings, screaming on her side of the bed (He never, ever stepped foot on my side of the bed. Never.) They would walk downstairs together to start their day, while I stayed asleep in bed. Once she left for work, he took on a vow of silence. He wouldn’t make a noise all day, then as soon as she’d walk in the door he’d start meowing incessantly, no doubt trying to explain to her how awful I had been that day, trying to tell her that they should move back to the old place.
He liked to be let out in the mornings, and loved being out in yard. It got to the point where he was essentially an outdoor cat, hanging out in the yard all day, coming in only when it was time for dinner. So when I went to let him in Friday morning and he wasn’t there, I wasn’t particularly alarmed. I went about my day and didn’t think twice about it. But when it got to be mealtime, and he still wasn’t back, I began to get concerned. He was as thick as a brick, and not one to miss a meal.
To be honest, my feelings ran closer to ambivalence than they did to full blown concern. I had always kind of secretly rooted for him to run away, and anytime my office took on that distinct hue of cat pee, that feeling intensified. I know that sounds callous and cold, but you have to understand: I love animals. I used to be an animal trainer. I’ve always had pets. I still remember searching for my lost dog when I was 8 for weeks. It was just this particular animal that I didn’t care for.
I checked the alleyway behind our house, calling his name, posted on Lost and Found on Craigslist, then texted my wife to let her know. When she got home, she was a little bit upset, but not terribly so. We still thought he’d be back. I decided to start touring the neighborhood with the dog.
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