Our little Gomez is a very affectionate kitty. He is also one feisty little thing. It's no coincidence that one of the first words Sophie said was "kitty" and one of the next words was "GET." As in, GET DOWN, GET OFF, and just plain GIT!
Pretty much whenever either of us comes home, he is at the door to greet us. And while he, like most cats, spends a good portion of his day sleeping, he can usually be found wherever we are.
So tonight, when Neil got home from work and Gomez didn't come running, it raised alarm bells. I had been out most of the day, and in the short time I was home before Neil got home, I hadn't seen the cat. We realized that neither of us had seen him since the night before.
We began a search of the house. It's not unknown for him to find little hidey-holes for his naps. On more than one occasion, we have searched the house for our "lost" kitty only to find him tucked into some little nook. Both of us fully expected that to be the case today.
Except he wasn't anywhere to be found.
Not in any of the closets.
Not behind or under the dressers.
Not under the bed.
Not in the ceiling in the basement.
Not on top of the cabinets in the kitchen.
So we took to the streets. We drove up and down. Back and forth. Slowly. Looking under every bush and tree and porch. It doesn't help that we finally got the rain they've been forecasting the last three days.
We were so upset, I couldn't cook and we had to go to Chick-Fil-A.
Dinner was a pretty solemn affair. Both of us worried about our little missing Gomez. Neil was especially upset. Gomez is his boy. He sleeps curled up next to him every night. We both spent the whole time wondering what could have happened to him. Had he found a way into the walls and met with misadventure? Had he slipped outside? He's an indoor cat, how could he stand up to the nasty toms that cruise the neighborhood. He's such a little thing, and with the soft claws on, he's not going to be much in a fight. Or god forbid, what if he tried to cross the street.
Every few minutes, one of us went to either the front or back door and shouted out for him. But there was no response. I hate to say it, but I was starting to lose hope.
Meanwhile, our other cat, Potter, was running around like a kitten. It would be an understatement to say that she is less than fond of Gomez. She was purring and rubbing up against us. Whenever we'd say, "Potter, where's Gomez?" She wouldn't say a thing, but I swear she was grinning from ear to ear.
Around 8 o'clock, I went upstairs to start the bath for Sophie. Neil began to follow me up, carrying Sophie, but as he hit the stairs, he turned around and said he was going to go out and check for Gomez. One last time. We both laughed knowing that we would keep going out all night.
I was hunched over the tub when Neil yelled out to me. I ran out and looked down the stairs and there stood Neil, Sophie under one arm and Gomez under the other. He was hissing and pissing (quite literally), but he was alive and unharmed.
Evidently, when Neil went outside, Gomez came running up to the door. Neil said he was under the porch, but as many times as we were out there hollering, I can't imagine that he had been there all along.
Whatever the case, we're so happy to have our little guy back that we didn't even really yell at him when he jumped up on the table and started knocking things off. Tomorrow, though? The gloves are off.
PS - I saw the parking lot guy again today at the gym. I'm pretty sure he recognized me. I may have to change gyms.
PPS - My boobelas are killing me. I haven't suffered through engorgement in so long, I forgot how much it sucks. Please tell me that cabbage actually works, because I've got vegetables in my bra and I'm waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out and tell me I'm being punk'd.