awol

Oliver second floor hallway windowsill looking out onto Black Street

I lost Oliver yesterday ... gasp.

He escaped. That Oliver he's such a doesn't want to miss anything, always has to be where there's somethin' going on, people cat (or Susan cat) he's always hangin' around. It occurred to me early last evening as I sat in the living room enjoying the fire and watching a little television that I hadn't seen him in awhile. Things seemed unusually quiet. I quickly scooted upstairs to see if maybe he was sleeping on my bed. Nope. The guest room? Nope. Down into the kitchen I went and into the cupboard to retrieve the never fails kitten calling apparatus - a bag of Whiskas Temptations kitten treats - you shake the bag once and kittens come from miles around running, dancing, chirping - they LOVE those kitten treats. Shake. Shake. No Oliver. My heart sunk and I could feel my blood pressure rising along with the anxiety that was begin to sweep over me. Where could he be ?

Of course Mr. Mr. (Gus) that handsome, tawny, tabby, ocelot cat came rushing out of his hiding spot, and Bleet prefers his kitten treats delivered to his spot on the sofa near the fire - so I delivered Bleet's treats while thinking to myself - OK - don't panic, retrace the events of the afternoon. When did I last see Oliver ? I was in and out of the house (the back laundry room door) often during the afternoon hanging and retrieving laundry from the line outside and Miss D was having a busy afternoon working in her rawhide plantation out in the big fenced in dog yard and I was letting her in and out often through the sunporch door. Winnie likes to take her rawhides out into the yard and bury them, all over the yard. She uses her nose and comes back into the house with her scraggly little face completely covered with muck, dirt and bits of leaves ... but that's another story.

After thoroughly searching every nook, cranny, closet, drawer, dryer, washing machine and crawlspace inside this house I came to the conclusion that sweet Oliver must be outside. He slipped out and trust me I'm very careful ... as anyone with inside cats knows - you have to be careful.

By now it was dark and I was really beginning to panic (as is my nature) quickly spinning toward doom & gloom. What if I can't find him ? What if he's gone forever? I began imagining what my life would be like at the teak topped desk with no Oliver. I couldn't go on. He's my joy. He's my buddy. I'm totally crazy about him. So outside I tromped, bundled up in down & fleece, with kitten calling apparatus in one gloved hand, and a flashlight in the other.

Shake, shake. O-l-i-v-e-r. K-i-t-t-e-n ... in my softest most alluring kitten calling voice ... wait ... listening with strained ears ... nothing. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat ... No Ver.

An hour passed I was in and out, I even spent some time just sitting out in the back yard darkness, on a tree stump quietly listening intently hoping to hear the sound of little paws on crunchy dry leaves, some tears and a few prayers, more in and out of the house strategizing and planning my next search party of one manuever and much more lying down on the grass and shining the light under and into every outside nook and cranny I could think of. No Oliver. Anywhere. Finally I was walking around the house and into the front yard and I thought maybe he's under the front porch. Down onto the ground again and I aimed the flashlight into the darkness under the stoop. Bright little eyes shone back at me. Heavy sigh. Thank you God and M. Universe and anyone else who's been helping out !!

Shake, shake. O-l-i-v-e-r. K-i-t-t-e-n ... the softest sweetest little chirpy mew called back to me. He was scared. That's the thing with inside cats - they're all so brave and brazen and far too curious for there own good, always trying to make the big dash out into the big wide world and then they get out there and they spend the entire time hiding somewhere (under the porch in this case) thinking to themselves Holy Shit - this was a bad idea. Someone come and get me please.

I kept calling him and he slowly, slowly crept out of his hiding place and into my arms. Scared kitten. I smothered him with kisses, pats and hugs and life became good again ... here at 29 Black Street.