Polly and Zoey have been having a great time. They chase each other and roll around on the floor wrestling, each trying to better the other in attack strategies. Denali and Zoey not so much. Denali’s favorite noise is a low growl that cannot be mistaken, “Get the Hell out of my house!” She has started chasing poor Zoey into any corner handy and repeating this mantra over and over. I’ve found that if I can get them outside on the deck, the chant subsides just a bit and everyone calms down.
At 7:15 this morning we were going through this little ritual, so I opened the door and let the duo out. Not ten minutes later I heard a commotion on the deck, enough to make me jump up for further inspection. There was Denali yet again cornering the orange cat but this time fur was flying everywhere, and the yowling at a new level of fierceness. I know enough to NEVER get between two fighting cats even if one is your own, so I just started talking to Denali but fur continued to fly. At some point my voice sunk into some level of consciousness, she heard me and looked my way giving the other cat just enough time to get out of the corner and jump into the railing. The orange fur was standing on end and I thought, “Man Zoey’s under coat is almost brown it’s so dark!” but it wasn’t until the cat turned its head my direction, I realized it didn’t have the lighting bolt Zoey wears on her nose. It wasn’t Zoey but a cat I’ve seen around several times before. The poor cat was so desperate to get away, it jumped from the tallest point of the deck, over a story off the ground, and beat it down the hill.
I looked around the deck, no Zoey, I quickly looked through the house calling her, no Zoey. I went through the house two more time, no Zoey. Then began the search around the property, no Zoey. I got into the car and asked the owner below our property if I could search their land, no Zoey. Frantic, I called Hubby and he volunteered to come home early from his gold panning adventure to help in the search. I quickly agreed but it would take three hours for him to get home. So I called My Friend Jo for help. She searched the house yet again before aiding in the search outside. We looked everywhere - hundreds of trees to look, acres and acres of land to search. No Zoey.
My Friend Jo tried to console me but I was inconsolable. I’d failed as a cat gramma and would have to face The Chick this evening to tell her the sad, sad story. I had no faith in Zoey. She was a house cat, didn’t know the ways of cars, was only being “cat sat” at my house and her real home was hundreds of miles away, and hadn’t felt that welcomed to start with!
I wanted to check the properties in front of our house before giving up totally and My Friend Jo suggested I shut the basement door on the main floor and open the sunlight basement door for Zoey to go into should she still be around. She waited in the driveway, getting ready to post an SOS on Facebook, while I ran into the house to follow My Friend Jo’s suggestion. There ON the kitchen counter WAS Zoey!!
PS. As I was telling The Chick this story she told me, “She started out a barn cat, she’ll be fine.”
PSS. The Chick said I should have called her in New Orleans to tell her and she would have told me what a good hider Zoey is and to look inside the house more carefully.
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