Cat Drama: Vanishing Act

 I love being a cat mommy! 

But…my kids are disappearing left and right. Our Blackie just came back, and now Mom, John’s long-term beloved mama cat, has disappeared, along with our beloved Earl Grey ( Blackie’s brother). There’s not one clue to guide us to finding them. We still think it’s coyotes. We are not bad cat parents, trust me: we buy them whole rotisserie chickens, supply them with Tempations treats, and give them whipped cream every day (and Blackie gets his own Fancy Feast Gems). If anything they’re spoiled. But we let them roam freely outside; they come and go through the open kitchen window. I know it’s not safe outside, from the plethora of predators to the multitude of cars zooming by ( John has had many cats and rarely they get hit by cars). But it’s the best way to live: they’re animals with tactile senses and instincts that draw them to nature; you cannot trap them like birds or fish, in cages and tanks, even the huge “cage” that is a house (or “box” that is a trailer). Also when you let them outside it means you no longer need a litter box (and I don’t know where they “go” but I’m telling you I have never stepped in their poop outside). So even though they could die or disappear outside, I’m glad they live that way. They’re not neglected in any way, nor are they over-protected. We can’t prove that there’s coyotes roaming around, but I sure as hell know the cat didn’t go on a damn vacation! 

I looked on the Halifax Humane Society website to see if they got picked up and put up for adoption (although Mom is microchipped and they would let us know if they found her). No luck. But I saw some cuties named “Jack Jack” and “Pancake.” I’d bring them home in a heart beat. A house is not a home without cats (damn, that could be on a sign or a tshirt). I grew up with cats, so I’m just used to them being there. The only time I didn’t have a cat was at college ( although a girl had an emotional support dog there, so I don’t see why I couldn’t have an emotional support kitty), but when I came home on the weekends my calico Mr Man would curl up with me and my textbooks. My dad had a cat named Smokey when I lived with him in Ormond (I have some selfies with him). I had two cats at my apartment. My old room mate Tommy had a cat named Tigger (and now another one named Rusty who kinda lives with me and John). And John had cats when I came to live with him, and all the original ones, like Bandit and The Boss, have “disappeared,” except for Mom…and now she has, after several years and litters of kittens. It’s crazy. I wish I could call the Cat Police and report them missing.

If they return I will let you know, and I hope they do.

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