Our Baby Blackie

 I shouldn’t have to keep writing these kinds of stories but I guess I have to: our little black baby has disappeared. Blackie was only a year old. He was an un-neutered male. He had a jumpy, light gait and we’d call him The Flash for how he’d fly into the living room. It’s only been three days, but we have strong reason to believe he won’t return; when Sherman went missing he was never found. John believes in coyotes now more than ever. 

Blackie was one of three brothers, and actually from a litter of six. I found him in October of last year, him and his two brothers roaming out of their litterage. I gave them wet food and whipped cream (it’s a great treat for cats, sugar free, of course) and eventually we got them in the house. I gave one to my dad. Blackie and Earl Grey were inseparable. They were the Hurricane Kittens, surviving Milton. They were a miracle. They were a joy to have around. Even when they mostly hid behind a mattress in the bedroom and dotted the room with their kitten poop. As it got colder, they loved to sit in front of the heater in the living room. Sherman would lick them. They played furiously. They slept in a cardboard box full of shredded paper. If cats could love each other, they loved each other.

We named one Earl Grey because our neighbor Earl first found them, and he was gray. Blackie was the name I came up with and it stuck. I called them “the Brothers.” What great luck to have two male cats. We never planned to get them fixed, as John believes in only fixing females. And we only have one female, Mom, and she’s fixed. 

I’m sure people get married every day, babies are born every day, and cats go missing every day. 

The Good News: another flower in my garden has bloomed. I will take it as a sign. I loved that little black cat. He was my baby.

*****UPDATE *****

 Our little Blackie has returned home. I’m sorry I told you he was eaten by coyotes. I was mistaken.

I was out on the dock when he came home. John was sitting on the couch, and Blackie appeared at his feet, meowing. He was hurt. His right back leg is injured. He’s been hopping around the house for a day, finding new places to sleep. We put down blankets for him. John set up a a litter box. We feed him whenever he’s hungry, which is often. He’s lost some weight. He is back to licking whipped cream. 

I wonder what happened to him, where he went, how he got hurt, and how he found his way home after all this time (it’s been a week). We will probably never know. The important thing is he’s back and we’re going to do everything we can to take care of him. He is still my little baby. I tell him “mommy loves you!” I pet his little head. I tell his brother, Earl Grey, to go see his brother (and not wrestle him. It’s funny that Blackie was always the aggressor when they were play-fighting).

We’re so surprised and happy he’s home. Thank you for your thoughts and prayers. They worked.

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