The Cat That Almost Wasn’t

It’s Tuesday evening as I sit at my laptop writing about the cat that almost wasn’t.

The cat is the 3rd cat that my wife and I have had over the past 13 years.  His name is Napoleon.

We got him a couple houses ago, around 2004 or 2005 from the animal shelter.  He was a replacement cat for one of the two original cats we had.  Puddy was everyone’s favorite and Maverick we had a short time and he died of a U.T.I. on the way to the vet.  So we got Napoleon who has been very cat like in his behavior, if you know what I mean.

His priorities are hanging around outside and people. In that order.  He would prefer that we hung out with him outside, but some one has to earn a living.

When we moved this summer, we only moved a half mile and Napoleon found his way back to the old house a few times.

We thought he had finally stopped that bad habit until Monday morning.

But let me step back and fill you in.

Napoleon’s favorite time to be out is evenings and sometimes he leaves our yard but returns before we go to bed.  Sunday night however he wasn’t home at 8pm.  Or 9pm. Or 10pm. Or 11pm.  So we let him spend the night outside as we went to sleep.  He’s done this before and in the morning he’s hungry and waiting for us to let him in for the day.

Except that wasn’t the case on Monday.  We got up and there is still no cat.  On my way to my first meeting I swing by the old house to see if he’s over there.

Nope.

A couple more times either my wife or I drive over to the old neighborhood on Monday but we don’t see him.

On our evening walk, we ask around as we greet our neighbors.

Monday night we checked the animal shelter website and he’s not there either.

Out of habit, I check the front yard at 7pm, 8pm, and 9pm. No cat.

It’s been 24 hours + since we’ve seen him, and so I plan on visiting the animal shelter on Tuesday to see if they have him, dead or alive.

Then at 10pm as I get ready to finish locking up the house, I glance out the front window, one last time.

There in a corner of the driveway sits Napoleon.   I open the door and he comes trotting over.  I scoop him up, and walk back to the bedroom and flip the light on with the cat in my arms.

Kathy is in shock.   The prodigal cat has returned again. Napoleon almost became the cat that wasn’t.  But he still is.

By the way, this cat has a nickname, Chiakat.

He also has a webpage and Twitter account.