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When I first started working at my present job, a co-worker (a crusty older gent) mentioned that he and his wife had some cats. From the way he talked about them, I just got the impression that they were mostly for his wife and his kids (while they were growing up--they've moved out now). I guess at one time, they had five cats but age has decimated their ranks in the last couple of years (all were in the upper teens) so as of last week, they have only two. Last Monday, one of them (Trouble) had to be put to sleep last (18 years old and once again, old age had made it's life extremely painful so their vet recommended it.)
The remaining cat, Scooter, is 16, and from what my cohort said, he just didn't understand what happened to his furbuddy. On Tuesday, Scooter somehow found a screen that had been partially pushed out (by Trouble) and finished the job, escaping to the great outdoors. (I might also add that Scooter was strictly an indoor cat.) My bud and his wife spend the rest of the day looking for Scooter but with no success. That night, we have a terrific storm... two inches of rain in five hours with thunder and lightening galore -- and this little pussy cat was still outside. The next day (Wed), he puts out posters, etc., for the lost feline -- again, I get the impression that the effort's being made on behalf of his wife. Still no Scooter.
Well, for the next several days, there's no sign and, to tell the truth, I think he believed the poor little kitty was gone. Yesterday morning, we get off work and he goes home. He goes upstairs, turns on his computer, remembers he forgot something in his car, and goes back to retrieve it. He opens the car door, grabs the item, shuts the door, and who do you think stuck his head out from underneath the car at that moment? Good ol' Scooter!
Quick as a wink, he scoops up Scooter, takes him inside, and does an inventory. Other than a slightly bruised paw, and being extremely dirty and very nervous, the cat seemed all right. My friend then begins to clean Scooter up and feed him (Scooter was also VERY hungry!). He then calls his wife at work (she's a nurse and my co-worker swore that everybody on her floor heard her happy yelling when he told her the prodigal cat had returned home). Anyway, after feeding the cat goes to one of his favorite spots (the upstairs bathroom) and encamps in the tub. My co-hort opens some more cat food and places the bowl in the tub. As of this morning, Scooter is still sleeping/eating. Today, he will visit the vet to make sure the paw is just bruised.
Anyway, as my co-worker was describing all this, I could see the twinkle in his eye and the relief/happiness that the cat had come home. That, plus the liberal use of the word 'miracle' gave me a valuable reminder never to judge a book by its cover! I had always got the impression that he really didn't care for any of the cats... but I think his secret is now out! Truth be told, I think he's just as elated that the cat is home as his wife is!
P.S. He's always told me that when all their cats have gone on to their rewards, he'd never get another one. After this, I'm betting there will be a cat in his house within two months!
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