This weekend, we had one of those heart-stopping moments, and we had only ourselves to blame.
Actually, that happened twice in the last few days, one far less bad than the other, and only myself/ourselves to blame in both cases.
So, Sunday, we were hanging laundry, so we let the boy-cats out on the patio, as we do sometimes. They can hang out there and eat grass (their favorite activity) and roll around on the concrete (second-favorite activity) for 10, fifteen minutes and all is right with the world.
Except T & I got distracted talking about which trees we were going to prune. We headed back to the house – and Oli was looking guilty and Theo was nowhere to be seen.
I wasn’t worried right away. Theo likes to hide under the lilac near the corner of the house and sniff out chipmunks.
No Theo under the car, behind the heating-oil tank, under the patio chairs.
I got the cat food (kibble) container and started shaking it.
No Theo in the woodpile or behind the garage or between the garden beds.
None in the hedgerow or when I walked up and down the street calling his name or up in the apple tree.
None in the cornfield or – back around the front of the house – back around the back of the house – up and down the road.
Calling “Theo! Theurge! One-two-three cats, two cat, where are you? Theodelphia!”
Finally, T started working on trimming the hedgerow where the cats like to run and suggested I sit down a little further away, in the shade (sunburrrrrn), and read and call out Theo’s name.
I’d been sitting for maybe three minutes when I heard ANGRY MEOW.
“Honey where are you?”
I DON’T KNOW.
“Wanna come home? Where’s my Theo Baby?”
WANT HOME NAOW. NAOW – no, no DON’T COME CLOSER NO.
After a little of that, we managed to get him OUT of the corn (poor thing, a full grown person can get lost in corn. Imagine being like 8″ tall!) and into T’s arms, into the house, watered and combed (the boys pick up burrs and burdocks like they’re magnetic), and cuddled. So much cuddled. Even more cuddled.
He doesn’t understand why I won’t let him out to play more.
When I had finally calmed down, Wednesday, I go to get in the shower, as one does, turn it on, get it started.
Get IN the shower.
There is a MOUSE in the shower.
A wet mouse. A sort of confused mouse.
Now, we’ve TRAINED the boys (Oli and Theo) to put mice in the tub. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this. Old house, lots of places to lose mice.
But they’re supposed to EAT THEM, not just… store them for later.
in my SHOWER.
So I yelped, and turned off the shower, and found a robe, and held out a pitcher for the mouse and told it “trust me, this is the better option.”
Never had a mouse run into a rescue container faster.
Slid it outside, went back to my shower – and this morning, let me tell you, I looked three times before I started the water.
Next week, on the Wild Thorn Kingdom, our bad Yelp review.