The Cat is Not Missing Nor Dead. At Least Not Until I Kill Him.

In the Cook family soap opera called “Finding Forrest”, he has been found and we rejoice.

Over the past few days I have called this cat a variety of names, none of which are complimentary. Stupid, ungrateful, malcontent, and feline delinquent are but a few of my thoughts. And, yet, when our neighbor Julie called to report a sighting, I was as happy as the children. The children flew out the door and caught him in the middle of the street and brought him home.

Before tonight, Noah believed he was dead, but Sarah Grace, remaining hopeful, had said “I bet he found a girl kitty and fell in love.“ To which Samuel said dismissively “Nah. He had surgery to fix that and now he can’t fall in love anymore.“ Pessimist, optimist, and cynic.

In the modern day equivalent of the party phone line, namely texts and Facebook postings across our neighborhood, his errant wanderings were first tracked up the street by our neighbor, Sara, to our more distant neighbors Robby and Jessica where he was given milk and affection for a couple of days (but they didn’t realize who he belonged to). Meanwhile, our neighbor Cindy called to check on whether he had come back and to empathize. Then tonight one of neighbors, Julie, called to say her husband, David, had just seen a black and grey striped cat with white feet running toward Pedro’s house. (And, to David’s credit, he openly admits he doesn’t even like cats!) And, during the kids’ neighborhood door to door canvassing yesterday, our neighbor, Judy, gave my children cold water to drink in the middle of a hot and humid day.

Truly, it has taken a village, for which we are appreciative and grateful. For now, the prodigal cat is home. Does he have wanderlust? Only time will tell. If he lives that long.

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