--A tale of Pumpkin Pie's attempt to regain her position as the only animal that sleeps with mommy.
As my loyal readers know, the wife is in California for two weeks, returning Monday night. During her absence I have been responsible for the proper care and feeding of the wife's cat, Pumpkin Pie. I have often stated my belief that Pumpkin Pie has a pea brain and is incapable of cognitive ability--certainly not sufficient intelligence to carry out the following nefarious plot.
Or... does she?
Today's adventure with Pumpkin Pie has compelled me to reexamine my analysis of the cat's brain. I think she wants to make me look like a terrible cat-sitter, and after you read this entry I'm confident you'll share my belief.
During the wife's absence, Pumpkin Pie and I have observed an uneasy truce: As long as I feed her, give her fresh cold water twice daily and occasionally change her litter box (see previous blog post to discover my feelings for that term), she has behaved herself moderately well: Only one hairball/throw-up and several litter box near-misses.
We've occupied the same space with a minimum of hostilities: Think North and South Korea and you'll have an accurate grasp on our relationship the past two weeks.
But to carry the North/South analogy one step further, today she crossed the DMZ in force. Quite honestly it's my own fault. I believe she saw an opportunity to make me look bad in the all-important eyes of mommy; thankfully her attempt was unsuccessful. If it had been, I might now be writing about my frantic search for a replacement cat.
Did I mention that Pumpkin Pie is not an outdoor cat? That's right, loyal readers: Pumpkin Pie is sans claws, sans shots, and sans any idea of how to survive in the big world beyond our deck.
This morning Pie shed the comforting confines of our humble abode and went off on a adventure. I left the house in a hurry at around 0730 to get to the Worcester JCC to teach spinning. After teaching from 0800 - 0900, I went to play soccer in Northboro for two hours. After that I went to West Boylston where I hooked up with my brother-in-law and his daughter to go swimming at the Holden Pool. I finally returned home at about 1500 (that's 3 p.m. to those of you unfamiliar with military time--it's easy, after noon just subtract 12).
I got out of the car and heard plaintive meowing. I looked up to the bathroom window--Pumpkin Pie's usual throne from which she surveys her kingdom. Not there. I looked at the kitchen window, where she perches when she wants to see the commoners at their level. Not there either.
I looked on the deck and saw a cat. I thought, "what's that stray cat doing on our deck? I've never seen that cat before." I looked closer and lo and behold it was Pumpkin Pie. She must have snuck out right behind me when I left this morning, darting between the closing screen door. And she must have stayed outside for seven hours: No food, no water, no shots, no clue.
Naturally I let her back in and she went immediately to the feed dish--but not after I swear she looked at me with utter and complete disdain: Like, "you're supposed to take care of me?! Hell, I snuck out for seven hours and you didn't even know. Wait 'til mommy finds out; she'll never feed you or clean out your litter box again. And then I shall reign supreme once more."
My first inclination was to thank God that Pie hadn't been eaten, run over, or any of the various misfortunes that can befall an unsuspecting animal (either two-legged or four-legged) in our cruel and unpredictable world.
But then I thought: Why did she come back? I mean, if she has a pea-sized brain, how did she know that this is her house? Was it actually smart of me to have in the past let her out to wander the deck?
And then I thought: What if this was a ploy to have the neighbors find her roaming outside? What if Pumpkin Pie planned her escape all along; waiting until the opportune moment struck in her bid to assert her eternal dominion over mommy's heart and affection? What if she's really not stupid, but calculating, shrewd, clever and incredibly vindictive?
Such are the musings of a misguided non cat person.
I wasn't going to tell the wife about how the cat got out and who let her out, but I know somehow if I didn't spill the beans Pumpkin Pie would. So for a change I demonstrated my superior human brain power and immediately called the wife. I told her the story because I didn't want Pumpkin Pie to seize the all-important public relations initiative.
The cat may have outsmarted me in escaping, but I'll be damned if she beats me at my own game.
Mommy comes home tomorrow night and I don't know who will be happier: Pumpkin Pie or me. Suffice it to say that given Pumpkin's recent walkabout, my adventures in cat-sitting are not soon to be repeated.
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