The cat went missing again, but returned to leave a nasty present
Cats, like sons, are the most ungrateful of creatures. They expect everything off you, they pretty much do damn all around the house and basically cost you money to feed them without you getting very much back.
And while the childer are better behaved these days, the rotten auld cat that the Husband took in two years ago decided to go missing for three days over the weekend, sending the Wee Lad and the Husband into a tailspin on despair.
The mangy baste was absent from the house on Saturday. I personally didn’t see him go any- where, but I think he may have left the property when the Husband went to work that morning/ Do you think I noticed? Not a bit of it. The Husband never asked about his auld pal when he returned, he barely asked about the childer, before he headed out for his weekly catch-up with his mates. It wasn’t until Sunday morning as I was cleaning the floor that I realised that the cat, who, by the way has got no name because, as I keep telling myself, he’s not staying, was missing as his bowl of food was turning nasty.
He had been away before, but the longer I thought about it, the more I realised that he hadn’t been annoying me all of Saturday and I probably didn’t see him on Friday either.
When the Husband roused himself on Sunday morning (nearer the afternoon) I informed him of the status of the cat - missing. Secretly, I hoped that status was ‘missing, presumed dead’, but I didn’t relay that to the Husband, who, for some reason, is fond of the smelly beaten-down auld yolk (yes, I hear the laughs - it’s not just the cat!).
He was perplexed and, yes, a bit sad. I wasn’t. I was already thinking about who I could give away the cat food and bowls to and how nice it would be to get a nice pet, like a cute kitten, for the kids instead. The Wee Lad came in and asked what was wrong with his dad. And when he found out that the cat, to whom he pays scant attention, had gone missing, he flung himself wholeheartedly into his usual histronics, wailing a lot with no tears and wondering what he was going to do.
And in an effort to get the kitchen cleared up, I told the Wee Lad to head off outside and ‘ find the cat’. He brought a plastic toy gun and put it down his trousers, as well as layering himself up with combat gear to wit a bobble hat, a cartoon-printed scarf and a pair of black gloves. It was less the hunt for the missing black cat, more the Hunt for Red October.
He looked in all the places he could think of - the hedges, the fence next door, behind the boiler house, under the car. He even got into the field next door to root about. Not a sign of the cat and every few minutes, the Wee Lad would appear at the glass door, his bottom lip sticking out and again, those puppy eyes, with no tears. Needless to say, he soon gave up as it was getting too cold, and returned to his computer game none the sadder for his fruitless search.
In addition, I sent the Husband out to the shed to see if the cat had been locked in there, as had happened before. No luck there either and I went to bed on Sunday evening thinking: ‘I must remember to put those tins of cat food in a plastic bag’.
On Monday, I texted the Husband to see if there was any sign of the cat, and the reply was no. ‘ Ah well, I hope he’s happy where he is and where’s that bag for the bowls and food?’ I was wondering aloud on Monday evening when, out of the corner of my eye, the cat’s unsettling green eyes were peering in at me through the kitchen window.
The Husband was most pleased, and wasted no time in getting the baste fed and settled, at full stretch, on the mat in front of the fire. I’m never lucky, I thought as I went to bed. I knew that to be true when I woke on Tuesday and the smell of the skittery cat poo met me in the hall. The ungrateful creature was so pleased to be back he had left me a present.