You've heard that "when the cat's away, the mice will play," right? Well, allow me to add a twist to that: When the people are away, the cats also will play.
In this case, it was one cat, in particular. We have two of them, Rio, a goofy old Maine coon, and Vivian, a longhair who is four years younger than Rio's 13, and is his constant companion.
They've both been with us now since 2009. They made the trip from our home in Glendale to our new digs here in Central Oregon with surprising ease. But here's the thing: Because of the danger of predators – yes, coyotes and here, eagles too – and traffic, neither has ever been outside. We assiduously guard against doors accidentally left open and never, ever, allow them to get near us when we're going in and out.
That's been easy because neither of them has ever shown a scintilla of interest in being outside. Oh, they'll sit near an open window and, through the screen, drink in the sounds, smells and sights. But bolt for an open door? Never.
It was against this background that we came home from dinner with friends Saturday night to find Rio gone. We both knew that he absolutely could not have gotten out of the house. So we each, over the next day or so, and in separate expeditions, took the house apart. Yes, and the garage, too. At least three times. Each. He was nowhere to be found.
We have, on a kitchen door adjacent to the cats' eating area, one of those retractable screen doors that rolls up from one side. For part of Saturday, before we departed for our dinner, that door was open and the screen deployed.
What we figured out, finally, was that Rio must have stuck a nose, or a paw, or both, under that screening and weaseled his way under it to freedom. Freedom!
Fine, but now what? He's never been outside. He doesn't know the area at all. There is neither water nor food available. And even if there was, he's 13, comfortably plump, and missing several teeth. He's just not equipped to be out.
The cats sleep, and pretty much live, under our bed. So it wasn’t unusual that we saw neither of them when we arrived home. We didn't become aware of Rio’s absence until early Sunday morning. Horrified, we both jumped out of bed and in our pajamas, looked carefully around the house's immediate exterior. No Rio. We got dressed and walked the whole neighborhood calling for him and knocking doors, asking neighbors if they'd seen him. No Rio. We did this at least three times on Sunday. No Rio.
Listen, these two cats are part of our family. Rio sleeps with Laura, reminding her every morning that it's time for her to get out of bed and feed him. We adore them both. So we both were frantic and more than a little bereft at the thought that we might not see our wonderful old feline pal again.
But we tried hard to keep the faith. I contacted our HOA administrator, who put out an e-mail blast to our neighbors telling of Rio's escape, and listing our phone numbers. I put up a flier at the neighborhood mailboxes. We got a number of calls alerting us to everything of a rabbit that might have been a cat to a cat who looked like Rio. Almost. But no Rio.
Now it's Monday and still no Rio. We got a call from a pal that really helped us. “Don't worry, she said, he's outside having a f****** good time.” A call from another pal, who operates a cat sanctuary, told us, “Y'know, he's terrified. My bet is that he's still on your property. He hasn't gone far at all. He's afraid to.”
We both felt better, felt some hope. But still no Rio.
Last night, more than 50 hours after Rio’s escape, I'm upstairs reading and being depressed, and Laura is downstairs working at the puzzle table. She's got the back-yard door open and another of those retractable screen doors deployed. It's late, at least for us – maybe 10:30. Vivian is sitting at the door, looking outside. She’s meowing.
Rio meowed back. There he is, standing right at the door. Laura carefully opened it, quietly approached him, and grabbed his furry ass! She said he smelled like pine needles. Outside having a good time? Well, maybe. But probably more like hiding under a tree, wondering what he’d got himself into.
Once inside, he was a bit disoriented at first and didn't want anything to do with either of us. He made a bee-line for his cat box, and then to his catfood dish. And by this morning, he's back to normal. And so are we.
But today he's peering out the windows with increased interest. And we're vowing to never again trust those damned screen doors.
-JFT