Now that he is about five months old, he started being curious about that big world out there every time the door opens, and his buddy Tigger or the mean cat Misty (Miss Fit) come inside to eat or go back outside.
Last night I was telling Frank, "This kitty has really gotten to be my buddy." Every room I went to, to fold clothes, check computer, watch TV, he followed and played in the plants or with the cursor or climbed the back of the sofa to try and get me to play with him. I went to the door and called Tigger in to play with him, then I left to go tuck my mom into bed at the assisted living center.
When I came back, Tux was nowhere to be found. My teenage son had come home with his two sleepover friends who tromped upstairs to play drums, video games, TV very loudly, so I figured Tux had found a safe place to hide, probably in the forsaken side of the house where my mom used to live.
This morning, however, when no kitty showed up for breakfast in a quiet house, I began to panic. I fed the three other cats and called all over the house, investigated mom's apartment, looked under son's bed, looked in all the closets. My dog Little Bear got into the act. When I was calling "kitty kitty kitty" in the coat closet, he was sure there was a cat in there, and his snuffling around and tail-wagging led me to believe we'd found him too, but no go.
All right, time to get serious and look in the danger areas: the mechanics of the recliner, where he could have gotten smushed when Frank got up from watching TV, the cushions of the sofa where he'd been jumping and climbing to see if he got sat on, the swimming pool on the deck out back, the skimmer basket of said pool, the goldfish pond, out of which I'd had to fish out a dead stray kitten one time, the driveway where I'd driven coming back from visiting Mom. NOTHING!
Checking with Frank as he's getting ready for work, reporting that I've found nothing. Thinking we'll find out when things start smelling. Finally, I go to the bathroom and while I'm in there doing my thing, I hear a faint desperate mewing. I'm calling frantically and looking in the sink cabinets and realize it's farther away, it's UNDER the bathroom. Little Bear and I go out and check the crawl space under the house, and there's some little white paws attached to black legs reaching through the cement blocks under the house!
I drag him out and we go in to cuddle and celebrate. He must have run out when I called Tigger in or when I left to see Mom. 39 degrees outside last night. He's been glued to my lap ever since. Whew, dodged the bullet there. One life down, eight to go.
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