An Open Letter To My Missing Cat

Stop Ghosting Me, Dori

Dear Dori,

I’m beginning to think you’re never coming home.

I’ve been calling and calling, and you never come. Now that I think of it, that’s normal behavior for you, isn't it? Not once have you ever answered to your name.

Between you and me, that’s why I wanted to call you Cat. A pet that never answers seems like a waste of a good name. The wife wouldn’t hear of it.

Come home. Or not. Because guess what? If we end up replacing you, I might just name the new pet, Dog. Yeah. And you can bet when Dog hears her name; she’ll come running. I like the sound of that. It appeals to my sense of irony.

It doesn’t have to come to it. Just come home.

Why?

The girls miss you. My wife misses you. I…well, I guess I like it when the girls and the wife are happy. Frankly, I’m more of a dog person. I know, I’m not supposed to say it. “We love all our pets equally.”

Let’s not pretend like we don’t know it’s a lie. Everyone has favorites. Ev-Er-y-One. Of course, if my girls ask, I really do love them the same.

That reminds me. Do you remember Reecee? The dog? He doesn’t miss you either.

And why shouldn’t we like him more than you? He didn’t run away. What do you have to offer that he doesn’t?

If I’m honest, you’re an outside cat. Mark that in your favor. It means I don’t have to walk you, and I don’t even have to worry about a litter box except when it’s cold.

Nope, I just feed you and…well, yeah, that’s pretty much it. You used to come inside when it was freezing. You’d snuggle with pretty much everyone except for me. And Reecee.

I’d accuse him of chasing you off, but you scare the poor thing. He’d be livid if he knew I was even writing this. But as I said, most everyone else misses you. So come home.

Please?

Aw, come on you dumb cat! You’re the most passive-aggressive person I know. You pee in all the wrong spots when you’re upset, especially considering you’re AN OUTSIDE CAT! You scratch at the door. The only time you sit in my lap is when I’m reading or writing, and then you stick your tail in my face.

It’s annoying. There’s nothing I’ve done to deserve that behavior. Not unless you count favoring the dog. But who doesn’t? If they’re being honest.

Maybe it would serve you right if something happened to you.

No. I don’t mean that. (Not if the wife or the girls read this.)

But come on. Was I ghosted by a cat? Surely not. (If I called you Shirley, would you come home?) I’ve got my pride. Just, come home, while you still have one. That’s all.

Listen, I’ve cared for you for years. All I ask now is that you show up from time to time. Play nice with the girls. Maybe, don’t scratch the dog so much.

Besides, what am I going to do with all this cat food if you never come back?

It’s not safe out there. It’s going to be freezing again tonight. Did you know that? No, you didn’t. Cat’s don’t get weather.com.

And don’t forget, there are coyotes out there. They eat cats. Remember what happened to Tabby-Toes, the cat that lived just a couple of houses down? It’s been almost two years, but the memory is still fresh.

It’s easy to remember because you’ve been gone since about the same time Tabby-Toes disappeared.

Just like a cat.

Come home. Or not. Otherwise, I’m buying a new dog.

Yours always,

The Man You Never Listen To.

Scott Hughey just reread this letter and is beginning to suspect something might be seriously wrong with his cat.

Want more Open Letters By Scott? Read this one, especially if your name is Ernie: