I've been writing the Woodpile Kitty Chronicles because Thanksgiving was the last time I saw Clarence. He's always had wanderlust, and was often gone for a night or two. He has a huge territory, and I think it takes him that long to make his rounds, you know, freshen up his markings, make sure no one's putting claims down anywhere. I thought when he was nuetered he would become more of a homebody, and get hurt less in fights, but it only curbed the latter. Which is fine, some peeps are just meant to wander. Sometimes our loved ones move far away, like to Germany. Ahem. So if Clarence has itchy feet, as long as he checks in every day or two and stays healthy, I'm happy.
But 14 days passed.
Almost every night I dreamed of him coming home. And getting yelled at while being cuddled. Lately Pheonix has been being really mean to Clarence, who in turn has been growling at the kittens. I made all 5 kitties stay in on Thanksgiving, 'cause I got them each a can of special food, and Clarence enjoyed the food, but then immediately demanded to be let out, so I did. Im all about the "if you love it set it free"; I only make my kitties stay inside if they're sporting coneheads.
I know sometimes cats find new families. Maybe five is too many for one household, ya know? Mostly, though, I just couldn't ponder it. I was desperately groping for that pleasant state of apathy that had worked before. Instead, I found myself crying at really stupid meaningless little things, since I couldn't let it out for Clarence. That would mean actually dealing. Like, I saw this really dorky kid walking down the road, the kind that probably gets beat up every day, the kind I'd be hanging out with in highschool. He was practically skipping, with this big grin on his face, carrying a shiny gold box with huge gold ribbons tied in a bow and trailing from it. And for some reason, that made my eyes tear up.
Then yesterday, it started to really rain. The power went out twice. And in the brief interlude of light while scrambling for lanterns, my honey went out to the porch for more candles, and there was a soaking wet, mewling Clarence. CAN YOU FRICKEN BELIEVE IT?!?!? Two weeks of insomnia, leaky eye faucets, a panic attack or two... 14 fricken days and Clarence comes home, looking stronger and healthier than ever. LITTLE BOOGER HEAD! How insanely lucky am I? I started this story several chapters ago as a eulogy, and instead I got a happy movie ending. Lucky, blessed, thankful, and my scolding quota filled, I am one happy Mom. My life is right again, kitty paws hitting the keyboard and all.