I was returning from taking the trash out and in the tiny, tiny window of opportunity when the house door and the garage door are both open, Saki, the adorable and evil, but mostly evil, cat made a break for it.
I gave chase (always such a good idea) but tripped and fell, scratching both palms and banging up my knee. By the time I had righted my creaking old self, he had disappeared.
I wandered up and down our tasteful and quiet street, making the the little “tch tch” noise that is the only thing he ever pays attention to, but sort of hopelessly. Our neighborhood has big stretches of wild, open canyon and I figured he was off paying the coyotes a visit, and, really, what are the chances of finding a cat in the dark?
One of my neighbors popped up, a sweet lady who, I’m sure, is not responsible for her Crazy Hair, and offered to help. She asked what “her” name was, I told her “He probably thinks it’s ‘Get Off the Table’ cause that’s what he hears the most.” She didn’t seem to get it, so I relented and explained it was really Saki, which she allowed was a cool name.
We shared lost cat stories and she looked around for a while in the most inept manner possible until I finally thanked her and sent her on her way. I leaned against the garage door, mentally composing flyers:
I was already comforting myself with the realization that at least I wouldn’t have to worry about finding to someone to take care of him while I was in New Orleans when he scurried back in, his tail huge, as big around as it can get, so it would seem he had run into some adventures.
Serves him right. I want it clearly understood I did NOT greet him with baby talk and chin scratches. Maybe a little.