The Cat Mystery

We are home. Home from Connecticut. All safe, all well. As usual, I felt a surge of love for my home when I got in the door. Dan says it's because all my things are here. Perhaps. But I do love this house.

We knew, opening the door, that we would be faced with the answer to one question:

WHERE was the cat hiding?

When we left home, we had planned to take the cat to the kennel, with the dog, to be lovingly cared for, and whatnot. However, Benny was inspired to spray him all over, basically dip him, holding him from his big toe, in flea spray which he got from under the kitchen cabinet. Yes, I know, our fault, child proofing, and it's all true, but wouldn't you expect the TWO year old to get into the poison while I'm busy packing? That's what I would expect.

Anyway, I was alerted to the situation by the cat going screaming past me on his way under Sadie's bed, and Benny following close on his heels, saying patronizingly, "Don't worry, Hoity, you'll dry soon!"

Uh.

Okay, so, packing, loading the car, now I'm looking for the cat to get him in his carrier and take him to the kennel. He is nowhere. He is hiding, or poisoned and mute, or already dead, and I cannot find him AT ALL. After I see that he's not in Sadie's closet, I put some things in there that I want to be sure the cat doesn't sleep on, and I close it. I leave every other door in the house open, the bathrooms, the closets, etc. We put out buckets of food and water and we leave. And come back. And I go through the house carefully first because surely the sight of the cat rigid and dead, face locked in a rictus of poisoned horror, will ruin the children's dinner. But he's NOT DEAD! He is, in fact, meowing like his tail is on fire. And I discover where he was hiding. Do you know? Have you guessed?

The cat is... in Sadie's closet. Locked into the one place in the house that was locked. And he has, basically, eradicated the entire closet with pee and poop, which is INEXPLICABLE since he was without food or water for four days.

So, what is in that closet?

All the completely gorgeous hand-me-downs from Zoe and Maisy, too big to be worn yet but waiting to be worn. Everything I've ever made for both of the children, either outgrown and saved for posterity, or too big to be worn yet. All of Sadie's current clothes that hang up. All of the precious baby toys that I've kept from when they were babies. Two of my spare bags. Quilts. Beautiful down blankets that we can't use because I'm allergic to down, but still.

Basically everything that I care about in life is there. Okay that is a lie. But when I weigh this poop/pee/closet situation against the fact that he might have died in there, I find myself thinking, I NEVER LIKED THIS CAT ANYWAY. Okay, that is a lie. I liked him before I had kids. Ever since then, not so much.

So, what is the solution? I hauled a giant box of things out to the trash. I put a big load of laundry in with the hope it can be saved. The good news is that ALL of the hand-me-downs in waiting were encased in plastic and are fine. The bad news is that three dresses that had been made by me and were WAITING TO BE WORN were actually clawed down from their hangers and peed on. And the walls were peed on. Leaving awful stains.

The closet is mostly empty and soaking in Clorox. The cat is rehydrated, the jackass. I know it makes me evil, and I *AM SORRY* that he had to spend four days in a closet. However... really... welcome home. Oy.

Time to watch STUDIO 60 ON THE SUNSET STRIP.

Let's make a pact: Even if we don't like it, we don't admit it. For like four weeks. I'm asking for a little leeway for this show. If we hate it, we don't discuss it. We wait.