syzygy_dw: (Default)
Here's an image for you: a thirty-something woman wandering up and down a street at night, meowing like a cat and flashing a blue light under cars.

That was me, trying to find Butterscotch. She didn't come when I opened the cat food can, and usually she's the first one there. She didn't come when I called her, either. The patio door was closed, but I noticed that behind it, the screen was open. I know exactly what happened: Scotch had been picking at the screen, trying to escape, and managed to open the screen and slip out quickly before I slid the door closed. I didn't even close it because of the cat. I closed it because of street noise. My friend and I were watching Torchwood. She may have been gone about an hour before I went to feed her.

My friend and I went in opposite directions around the building to find her, but finding a brown cat at night, when she's off having adventures... impossible. I went back inside and changed my slippers for real shoes, grabbed my phone and keys, and my Sonic Screwdriver. Shut up, it's the closest thing I have to a flashlight. At least this one doesn't go "Wrrrrr" when you shine it under cars. (Note to self: Buy a flashlight.)

I know cats will usually return home, but I freaked anyway. First of all, Scotch is a fourteen-year-old indoor cat. Her survival skills consist of crying at me to feed her or refill her water fountain. What if she got into a fight? What if she was lost for days? Second, even though she's tattooed and micro-chipped, her registry is years out of date and she's registered in Winnipeg. Third, I live on the corner of a busy street. Fourth, she's pretty. What if someone kept her?

I left my cell phone number for my friend, so she could call me if Scotch came back, and wandered all over the neighbourhood for a good 45 minutes. I checked a neighbour's back yard, under every car, and was thinking of asking the people who live in our old apartment up the street if maybe she had turned up on their balcony. I was talking to a couple of passers-by in front of my building when my friend said "Heather! Look!"

Who should be sauntering up to the patio, as if nothing was wrong? My little escape artist. She walked right up to the patio door and demanded to be let in.

I grabbed her and hugged her tight and cried, and checked for injuries or burrs or whatever. She was fine, of course, other than being wet and annoyed that I was holding her. I, on the other hand, was a wreck.

Now little miss Steve McQueen is happily napping in the recycle box under my desk.

Thank goodness Mojo is afraid of the outdoors. At least I know that one will never escape.




syzygy_dw: (Default)
Despite the fact that she was given to me by my brother for Christmas six years ago, Mojo is 100% devoted to my husband, and basically only tolerates me when he's not there. Or if I have food. At night, she will walk over me to snuggle with him. She is his cat, through and through, and has been since she was a wee kitten. I am very jealous of that.

Butterscotch is my cat. I've had her for almost 11 years, and she's usually somewhere in my general vicinity. (Right now, she's on the sofa behind me, absorbing solar rays.) She wants to keep an eye on me. She's not much of a cuddler, though, and never has been. Scotch is far too cool for cuddling. You will never find Scotch draped over me, or curled up on my feet. That's not her. But she'll usually hang out with me if I'm feeling down, and will even indulge me with a minute or two of cuddling if she senses I'm upset.

But last night, after I finally finished the worst day of the longest week ever, it wasn't my pal Scotch who came over to comfort me. It was Mo. She jumped in my lap and purred, and let me move her around so I was more comfy (usually, she bolts if I so much as breathe funny). She even permitted me to rub her belly, and didn't kick me once. She hung out with me when I took my bath (even though she's petrified of water). She even snuggled under the covers with me when I finally went to bed, and lulled me to sleep with her crazy loud purr. She stayed with me pretty much from the minute I got home.

You'd almost think Mo liked me, or something.

And where was my pal Scotch? She was nowhere to be seen.

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