Missing Cat Found?

A couple of weeks back now, Jayla came home from school and said to my wife and I, “I think I found Archie!”

Now this was a bit of a surprising revelation considering that Archie, our 10 year old Persian cat, (filled with more hate than your average Westboro Baptist card carrying member) has been missing for roughly 7 to 8 months now.

My wife, not a huge cat lover, was in love with this cat. I can’t say the feeling was mutual. On a good day, if there was no other animal in the house, and if you didn’t stir him awake, or even go into the same room as him, he may not swat at your feet, or look at you with discontent. That was rare. But he was our kitty and we loved him, and Wifey wanted him back. Jayla was soon sent on a mission.

Come to find out, the neighbors a street over had found him and were looking to take him to the Human Society. So we had to act fast. Jayla took off down the street to bring Archie home. Less than 30 minutes later, she reappeared with an orange cat in her hands. She got the orange part right. In fact, that’s about all she got right. For starters, this cat was happy to be held. It purred in her arms.

There was one distinguishing feature about this cat, other than temperament, that made us realize that this wasn’t Archie.

As Wifey walked around the corner, entering the kitchen, about to leave for work, she took one look at “Archie” and said, “Ummmm…That’s not Archie. That’s not even Persian!” To which our 9 year old persisted for the next 5 minutes that it was!

My wife, not wanting to take in another stray, and hopeful yet that Archie would return from whatever trek it was that took him from home in the first place,  left with orders that the cat be returned. I figured, this was a battle best left for another day. So I explained to Jayla that this nice, purring, happy to be held kitty had a home somewhere and we couldn’t just keep him.

Jayla was a bit upset. She asked that I give her a ride back down to the neighbors house where she got him from. So I did.

Upon arriving to the neighbors house, we see 3 or 4 boys running around the yard playing baseball. Jayla, now visibly upset, jumps out of the car, drops the cat, and says “Here’s your stupid cat back!” and jumps back inside the vehicle to an open jawed Dad. Slamming the door then crossing her arms.

“Jayla, you can’t just throw the cat down like that.” I say as I look into the yard where the boys have all gathered around a set of bushes attempting to coax the cat out.

She begins to cry and explains that she’s upset because she wanted to give that cat a home…even though it wasn’t Archie. We talked for a little bit and by the time dinner was had…she’d forgotten all about the cat.

Fast Forward 5 or so hours. Roughly 10:30pm. I’m in the basement. In the area that I affectionately refer to as, “Monkey Poo Studios”. It’s where I do all of my writing, podcasting and dreaming of a better, happier, creative ginger!

“Dad, what’s that noise?” I hear from the top of the stairs. It’s Haeleigh and she’s walking from room to room trying to figure out where and what this strange noise is. I run upstairs to investigate with her. I don’t hear anything. She insists there is some weird whinnying noise.

I step outside and immediately hear it. I’m in the back yard, sounds like it’s coming from the front. I run around the corner, and there, at the entrance to our driveway is the cat that isn’t Archie. Rolling around, purring and making some noise that I can only describe as Pride. This cat was excited to have found us. By now, my oldest two daughters, who were still awake, were standing beside me. “What’s it doing?” “Why’s it back” “Dad, can we keep it” and more questions came at me faster than I could answer.

I decided while laying next to it on the sidewalk (I’m a cat lover) and petting the cute little guy, that I’d bring it in for the night. We’d feed it and at least attempt to find a home for it.

An hour or so later. After he’s been held, fed and had investigated the house a little bit. I go to bed. Probably not a good idea!

Sometime around 1 or 2 am, Wifey wakes me up. To say that she’s not happy would be the understatement of the year. She probably wasn’t too happy to learn that the cat was in the house. I felt I could explain my way out of that. But that was just the tip of the ice berg. It seems that sometime between me going to bed, and her getting home from work, The cat not Archie, got a bit worked up and heavily sprayed the house down with his particular brand of man jam.

This was not good. The cat had to go. Hell, I was sure I had to as go well.

Fortunately for me…that wasn’t the case.

That was 3 or 4 weeks ago. The cat found his way in the garage that night. Seems he finds his way in the garage every night now. It’s summer time. He’s definitely an outside cat, so the kids have been feeding him and keeping him out there till we make a decision on what to do. Either find him a new home…or fix him and keep him.

He’s a happy little guy, but fortunately he hasn’t been as “happy” (again) as he was the night we found him.

Emma and Not Archie

Emma and Not Archie

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