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March 12, 2005
Ungrateful heart.
We were having a perfectly splendid morning until I discovered that my cat pried out the window screen over the sink.
Funny how your whole mood can turn on a dime. My cat runs away, and suddenly I'm ten years old. Scared, sad, heartbroken.
I pulled on street clothes and grabbed a can of Dick Van Patten's Natural Balance cat food, Ocean Fish formula. The aroma is almost as appealing as Episode 106 of "Eight is Enough," but the cats like it.
These animals are famous for pleasing themselves first, and they seldom come when called. Also, there's a kajillion places to run to, such as the overgrown garden next door, or the giant pine tree that casts a shade over each adjoining house.
I did a circuit around the block, deciding not to ask the guy at the convenience store if he'd seen a gray cat scoot past. I see that man everyday, and I was afraid that if my voice broke, he'd smirk at me each time thereafter when I walked in for an avocado or some half-and-half.
A barefoot woman in her forties sat on her front steps, working on a clipboard while a giant yellow Lab slept at her feet. "Sorry, no. I would have noticed because this one would have chased her up the street." The Lab thumped his tail, as if to say, "damn skippy."
Twenty minutes to circle the block. When I came back, L said "she's probably as freaked as you are." Polly is an indoor cat, but since moving to our bucolic street, she developed a strong interest in what goes on outside. She's even tried to juke past me and out the front door when I get home with groceries.
L went to speak to the tenant downstairs, who'd just heard her cat make the "there's another animal out here" noise a few minutes before we discovered that Polly was running The Longest Yard. A moment later, a little gray blur bounced past L and into the electrical panel behind the recycling bins.
"I think I found her! Or, she found herself," L called up the back stairs. I arrived in the tiny side alley and was able to coax Polly out of the crawlspace without bribery or coercion.
The whole time she was missing, I kept thinking back to the day at the SPCA when I was signing the adoption papers:
"Why are you even getting a cat? What if she gets sick and dies? What if she gets lost? How sad are those weatherbeaten 'have you seen me?' posters? Do you want that to be you?"
As I recall, I decided that it was worth all of that if I could come home to an animated entity that was glad to see me. L more than exceeds those requirements (!), but Polly's not entirely obsolete.
The movie in my head went something like this:
EXT. RESIDENTIAL STREET - DAY
YOUR PROTAGONIST, a black man in his mid-thirties, walks slowly down a quiet, tree-lined street, stopping now and then to peer under parked cars. A slim WOMAN wearing sweats and holding a yoga mat walks past looking askance. He appears not to notice.
Here, girl! Psst, psst, psst! Polly! C'mere, sweetie!
He straightens up and walks further down the block, scanning bushes and trees for signs of life. "Core n'grato," as sung by Dominic Chianese, gradually fills the soundtrack.
Posted by Your Protagonist at March 12, 2005 08:21 PM