OUR BELOVED PETS WRITING COMPETITION

One Shattered Window and My Girl Was Gone

Street life couldn’t prepare her for this

I’d just returned from a weekend away and sighed with relief as I turned the key in the lock. Weekends with my friends were pretty raucous in my 20s — not a lot of sleep was had.

Mojo, my beautiful male cat, came running to the door to greet me. That was not unusual, but his demeanor was. He was wailing — long, insistent howls filled with fear.

Mojo was an almost completely silent cat, except for his jackhammer purring. Until then, I could count the number of times I’d heard his voice on one hand.

Now, here he was, yowling frantically. I threw my bag down, looked at him, and said “What is it? Show me.”

You may think it’s ludicrous to ask a cat a question but animals communicate very clearly if you know how to read them.

He turned around and darted for my bedroom. I followed right behind.

He stopped at the wall and looked up. Then I saw it — a broken window.

The hole wasn’t that big— maybe the width of a jacked man’s bicep. I looked around and nothing else seemed to be broken or missing. The window was at ground level, so someone could’ve hit or kicked it accidentally.

“It’s okay. We’re fine,” I soothed Mojo. But he was clearly still upset.

The realization came with a jolt. I hadn’t seen Friday, my other cat.

Normally she would be part of the greeting committee, especially since I was gone all weekend. Today, there was no sign of her.

“Friday!” I called, running around the apartment, looking under furniture, checking her favorite lounge spots.

But she was gone.

Friday was my adventure cat. I found her when she was about five months old, filthy and scrawny, trying to make friends with a scowling orange tabby who wanted nothing to do with her.

I knelt down and held out my hand. She hesitated but slowly came over. Her back rose to meet my hand as I pet her.

It was right outside the fire station. The firefighters were savoring the summer evening. They told me she came around all the time. They tried to feed her scraps from their sandwiches, but she was too shy.

A little baby stray.

I picked her up and she didn’t object.

I carried her the two blocks home where she promptly busted out of my arms and hid under the table all night. But by the next morning, she was happy to see me and settled into domestic life quickly.

She would take advantage of any open door, however. Our screen was broken, and whenever my roommate left the door open, she’d pop out to sunbathe nearby. It gave me heart palpitations, but she was used to being outside, so it was hard to deprive her of it.

When I moved, she no longer had access to the outdoors. She seemed content to just watch the goings-on from the window. But I can imagine that a hole in the glass was just too hard to resist.

I called my friends to help me form a search party. I was crying so hard that poor distraught Mojo wedged himself in behind the stove. Which of course, prompted me to cry harder when I thought he was missing too.

We scoured the neighborhood for hours, calling her name and peering behind bushes and in little crevices. I tried not to think about the fact that my apartment was on a busy road. I’d already lost a cat that way in my youth, which is why Mojo and Friday were indoor cats.

My throat felt tight and constricted with fear. I finally returned home when it became dark, but I couldn’t rest.

She was my girl to take care of, so sweet and loyal. I had let her down.

I called the animal shelters multiple times and one of them told me most cats that go missing stay within 10 houses of their own. They suggested I ask my neighbors to check garages, tool sheds, etc.

The next morning I made pink posters and put them up around my place. I also hand-delivered a copy to each of my neighbor’s doorsteps — over 100 little pink signs of hope.

The week was a blur. Whenever I wasn’t at work I was out looking, calling her name.

I’d come home and bury my face in Mojo’s fur, saying “I’m sorry.” But she wasn’t there to hear.

A few helpful locals called when they thought they saw her. I’d listen subconsciously holding my breath, but it was never the right cat.

By the following Friday, I was close to giving up. I went out with a few friends that evening to drown my sorrows. My first free moments not spent looking for my girl.

I came home around 11:00 pm to a call on my answering machine. The message went something like this:

Hi Ellen, it’s Linda, your neighbor. My daughter Daisy and I went looking for your cat tonight and…. I think we found her. We’ve got her here. Give me a call when you can.

Normally I’d never call a stranger that late, but there was no way I could wait until the next morning.

Linda was so kind. Her animal-loving daughter Daisy saw my Lost Cat poster and became distraught thinking of Friday scared and alone. They decided to have a look around their street, wisely armed with cat food and a carrier in case they got lucky.

After a week of me looking everywhere, somehow they spotted her in a neighbor’s yard. She was sufficiently hungry to come to strangers bearing food.

They kept her in their basement to separate her from their own cat. They found her a cat bed and Daisy made a sign that said “The Cat Hotel.” Apparently, the 8-year-old played with her for hours until her mother insisted she go to bed.

I asked Linda if I could come and see. She wanted me to wait until the next day so her daughter had a chance to say goodbye but I couldn’t be separated from my girl any longer. I needed to know she was safe.

When I appeared in the basement Friday gave me a long meow filled with catitude that clearly meant “What took you so long!?” Whereas Mojo was silent, she was always highly expressive. I picked her up and held her tight, joy and relief flooding through me. She started to purr.

The first time I found her, as a kitten, it was a Friday evening. That was part of the reason for her name. They say to name your pets after something or someone you love, so the joy will be there in your voice.

At the end of every week, I’d look at her and say, “Guess what day it is? It’s your day, Friday!” A smart girl, she knew she was getting praised and would respond with little prances and cat smiles.

The second time I found her, after a harrowing week outside, it was also a Friday. As I settled down to sleep I let her lay beside me. This was a rare privilege since the cats were not allowed in my bedroom at night.

Her purring, usually very subtle, was so loud the mattress was vibrating.

“Guess what day it is, Friday? It’s your day,” I said gently, stroking her fur.

Her eyes crinkled in acknowledgment. She was home, her wanderlust cured forever.

There are some great entries in The Narrative Arc’s “Our Beloved Pets” contest. This one from Kendra Sparkles stole my heart.