Lost

On the 10th of this month, the man from the exterminators came to do their quarterly service to keep down the ants, inside and out. It was a different rep than usual, so it was the first time he'd met any of my four-legged dependents.

He came into the backyard just as I finished clearing the leaves from the woodpile, and of course Llewellyn was all over him. New hooman! Joy, joy!

"What a great dog! Boy, I could just take this dog home with me, couldn't I, boy?"

Then Rhadwen sidled up, wanting a piece of the action.

"Gosh, what a big cat! How much does she weigh?"

"A little less than eleven pounds," I said apologetically. "Actually, she's not that big. A lot of it's fur . . . "

"How old is she?"

"She's eleven years old. Actually, I got her eleven years ago tomorrow, on Veterans' Day 1998."

"Gosh!" said the bug man. "I've had cats for a long time, but they never get much over five or six pounds! And they never seem to live more than five years or so! Gosh. Eleven years old. That's really amazing!"

Me, I didn't think it was amazing at all. The strange thing to me is why anybody's pet kitteh would peg out after only five years. Rhadwen, I am determined, will live to be eighteen. At least. And phooey on the bug man's attitude that there is something odd in that.

That night, Rhadwen snuggled next to me in bed. I settled into her furry warmth, deliberately appreciating it, thinking of the conversation in the back yard that morning. Unbidden, a memory came into my head of my late terrier-mix dog Maddie, and how she'd only lived with me five years after we rescued her from the park in Kansas City, and how I'd expected to have her so much longer . . . Maddie's buried in the back yard, under the Mary Magdalene rose bush . . . when Rhadwen goes, will I put her near there, too . . . ? But what was I thinking? Rhadwen will be with me a long, long time. Snuggle closer and go to sleep . . .

The next day, Rhadwen begged to go outside, as usual. Eventually I gave into the nagging and let her out. Then I went upstairs and started working on the computer.

After about four hours, around 7:30 PM, Llewellyn prevailed upon me to take him outside for his evening constitutional. I figured my calico kitteh would be out on the back porch, waiting to come in for supper.

But she wasn't.

After Llewellyn did his business in the alley, we came back into the yard and I looked around for my No. 1 Cat. No sign of her-- Not in the bushes, not on the porch, nowhere, nothing.

Nothing-- but the front gate to the back yard gaping open.

I knew it was shut when I let her out earlier. Sure as sunrise, one of the neighborhood five-year-olds must've lost a ball over the fence and let himself in without asking, to retrieve it. And neglected to latch the gate after he left.

That would have been at least two, two-and-a-half hours before, when it was still light. When had Rhadwen found the gap? How long had she been gone?

I had to find her. I love Gwenith and Huw, but Rhadwen's my best friend kitteh. She's been with me through three dwellings and two moves and several jobs. She couldn't be gone. She just couldn't.

I rang neighbors' doorbells and asked them to keep an eye out. I took a flashlight and combed all the bushes in my yard and everyone else's. I looked in the front of the houses and back in the alley. I looked under the back porch to see if she'd ducked under there. Repeatedly, I came out and searched and called and searched again.

"Rhadwen! Rhadwen!! Wennie!!! Please, come, please! Rhadwen!"

Nothing.

The night was getting colder. The forecast was 31°. A lot of the cover where she'd taken refuge on previous forays afield is gone with the summer. Where could she possibly be?

But I kept looking. Late at night, heart leaden with thoughts of the worst, I turned my steps to the busy street a long block away, in case-- God forbid-- she'd wandered over there and gotten--

There was no sign of her there. Thank God, but where was she?

Still later, after 1:00 in the morning, I hitched Llewellyn to the leash and took him through the alley in the next block down. Maybe he could sniff out his old friend. Maybe she'd come to him, if she wouldn't to me?

Nothing. No sign.

Is this what I got for being so proud of my big healthy senior cat? To lose her, now, on the very anniversary of my adopting her? Is that what I was going to have to get used to?

No way I could just go to bed and sleep. The temperature was dropping and Rhadwen couldn't get back in if I didn't open the door for her. I had to work in the morning, so I couldn't stay up all night holding vigil.

So I did what I had to, and slept on the sofa bed in the front room. With kitty treats strewn on the front steps and on the windowsill by the front door, so that if she came back and nommed them (she'd missed two meals by now), I might see and hear and let her in.

And just in case, I left the front gate to the yard open, too. It might let in rabbits and raccoons and skunks, but it might also restore to me my lost calico kitteh.

Though by now, I feared I might never see her again.