Only He Knows For Sure

Izzy had himself a little adventure yesterday. And he totally freaked us both out in the process.

I walked in the front door yesterday afternoon, expecting to see my little man waiting for me as he usually does (he and Jake get to split a can of cat food as soon as I get home, so they're always anxiously waiting!). But Izzy wasn't at the door. I greeted Jake, called for Izzy, and got Sam. Fed Jake, thinking Izzy would pop out of his hiding spot and come racing into the kitchen, but it didn't happen.

OK. I was trying not to panic. I mean, just because he wasn't waiting for me like he does every day, doesn't mean anything's really wrong, right? But then I remembered how Tommy disappeared so quickly a few months ago and I fell over the edge.

I checked the back yard, the front yard, scanned the street looking for him. Called his name, kept checking the roof of the patio (a favorite place to hang out), but nothing. I walked around the block looking for him, all the while trying to convince myself that he was all right and he'd be chowing down in the kitchen when I got back home.

Nope. He wasn't there when I got back. Okay, time to pull myself together. He'll show up in a little while, right? Cats always pull this junk on their owners. Right?

So I spent some time just trying to wait him out. Watched some TV, tried not to panic. Did a little housework, tried not to panic. Convinced myself to wait until the next morning to call the pound and the vet's offices. Tried not to panic.

Around 6:30, I went out to the rabbit pen and was working on filling in Sophie's latest hole to China when I heard the faint sound of a cat's rather panicked cry. I stopped to listen, to make sure of what I was hearing, and trying to pinpoint where it was coming from. It was Izzy! I knew that cry! I called his name, hoping he would hear me. The sound was coming from the other side of the fence, but still pretty far away.

I ran back into the house to change my shoes so I could head around the other side of the block. Just as I got my shoes on, here comes Izzy, racing across the patio, into the house through the cat door, and down the hall to the bedroom. I have never seen him so freaked out!

I followed him and managed to grab him to check him out for bodily harm. No wounds, but his hair was all messed up. And he smelled of... cigarette smoke?!? What?!?

Where the hell had that cat been?

This is the point where I really wish cats could talk.

Did some kid scoop him up, take him home to a houseful of smokers, and he managed to escape? Did he fall in with a bad crowd of delinquent kittens? Where the hell had he been??

Other than a few more panicked meows, he wasn't talking.

Poor thing. Whatever happened to him really freaked him out. Once he calmed down, he found a hidey hole and crashed hard for a while. When I got back from bowling, we snuggled on the couch, him sleeping against my leg with my hand curled around his chubby belly.

When I went to bed, he was right there with me. And he was still asleep beside me when I woke up this morning. I'd like to think he won't go wandering again anytime soon.

But we'll see. Who knows what goes on in those little cat brains. And he sure ain't talking.