A Noble Creature

Charlie is missing. Since Wednesday night. He was last seen by a choir member coming into our house for the gathering. We've been doing the lost cat thing. Calling animal control and the local vets. Posting signs. Sharing on Facebook sites.

Charlie is ten years old. He came to us on a snowy night in April of 2008. I had fallen in love with a picture on the web and Bill and I drove to some god awful farm down south in a snow storm to get rescue him. It was the worst place ever with monkeys and lizards and no floor. We laid down the cash and snatched the cat and got the heck out of there. He is a Napoleon but I didn't give a hoot about the breeding papers I just wanted those white whiskers.

He fit in my robe pocket and practiced with us at the piano every morning. When he ran across the floor to chase a toy his back side got in front of his front side and twisted him about.

There is still hope that Charlie will return--it's only been three days. Garfield was gone for nine days. Still, I don't do well with lost things, let alone lost pets.

The pity party in me is crying that I've actually lost the two cats that I love and now we are left with Rosie, and I'm not so connected with Rosie. She was just Garfield's sister who came along for the ride.

Charlie is actually the best cat ever. Even Bill loves Charlie and he has spent the best part of three days combing the ditches and the ravine behind our house looking for that black and white cat. That's what good husbands do.

Charlie was like a bad boyfriend to me. He is known to bite and scratch when things didn't go his way, like if you pet him wrong or for one moment longer than he tolerated. I have the scars to prove it. The piano kids are instructed not to pick him up.

Then he comes around later all sorry and wanting to make up.

He sat on my lap every morning listening to Calvin and Mary play the piano. Until we got to the Chopin Scherzo. That was too much for him. Come to think about it he wasn't very fond of Op. 90 either.

He's noble for a million reasons. He lets the other cats eat before he eats. Even though he could take any of them down with a swipe. He waits at the foot of the bed for my alarm to go off before sticking one claw into my neck to wake me up. He would never wake me up and that was part of the deal. Same thing with all the doors. Never cry at the door, just wait patiently for Sara to finally walk by. He expected very little and never asked for much with his voice.

In 2009 we got Lilly from the shelter, to keep him company. She was a tiny little tabby. He adopted her and protected her and they were ying and yang. Him the huge long haired black and white cat and her the tiny short-haired tabby but something worked. He couldn't protect her from the coyote when she snuck out during a recital. I'm sure he would have tried and he sat on the screen porch for days looking for her.

In 2010 we got Garfield and Rosie from the Picket Fence house in Burlington Iowa. Instead of loving his new friends he was completely annoyed with the two fluff balls we brought into his life. They were not Lilly.

That's the story of Charlie. Lost pets are the worst because you never know at what point to cry. When Flopsy died we said goodbye and laid him in the garden to rest. Now I just have some black fur on the carpet in the hallway upstairs--and I'm not ready to vacuum it up.

Forgive the drama, please, but I am a crazy cat lady after all. It was part of Bill and my marriage vows actually.  I would move to Minnesota and he would deal with the grand pianos and the cats.

So--here's to Charlie. Here's to all the pets. Thank you for the joy they bring to our lives. Charlie if you are out there--make your way home safely.  If your life is done--thank you for being the most noble of creatures.