Oliver’s 72-hour adventure

I started writing about this a couple of times, and just couldn’t.  Absent tonight’s thoroughly satisfying resolution, it was probably going to stay that way.

We couldn’t find Oliver Wednesday morning.  Worse, we didn’t really realize he wasn’t in any of his usual hidey-holes, and wasn’t coming when I rattled the laser pointer in the little wooden box in which I keep it (which is unheard of), until two minutes before we had to leave the house.

That’s “leave the house” as in “take Lea to surgery.”  No time could be manufactured for a protracted search.  Lea’s mother and Aaron were at home, and they planned to continue looking for him, and that was as good as it was going to get.

After Lea and I dropped Nathan at school and began the 7:45 am drive from northwestern Madison to the hospital—masochistic any weekday, but particularly unpleasant this time given the circumstances—we began to piece events together as best we could remember them.  We determined that he was probably outside.  Worse, we couldn’t rule out the possibility that he’d spent the night there.

Oliver seemed spectacularly ill-suited for the sustained outdoors.  He was declawed when we adopted him, and he’s never been anything but an inside cat.  His infrequent ventures outside have always been of the tentative, sneak-out-behind-you sort, and he’s always dashed right back in.  Also, we live well outside city limits.  The local assortment of fauna includes a healthy contingent of predators, and it’s less than half a mile to a 45-mph road in all directions.

So there was little point in thinking this was going to end well.  As long as the odds seemed, I decided it was best to go ahead and get the boys in the real world about it.  The sooner they hurt, the sooner they’d heal.  Nathan had already started filling in the blanks on the way to school that morning, and his sniffles had haunted me all day.

After Lea was safely out of surgery and sleeping, I went back home to make a few LOST CAT signs and talk to the boys.  It went like you think it went.  I told them that Oliver was lost, and that we probably wouldn’t see him again.  After we shared hugs and tears, Nathan and I drove around and put the signs up, and I went back to the hospital for the night.

Then last night, Nathan and I went for a slow walk around the neighborhood.  We called Oliver, meowed, and played with the laser pointer continuously, but especially anywhere there was cover.  I knew if he was around and alive, it was the best shot we had, as chasing the laser pointer is a game he can’t resist.  It really was a pretty good idea, and though I was smart enough to keep it to myself, I got a little hopeful in spite of the situation.  No luck.  More tears right before bed last night.

I looked at the litter box and cat dishes this morning, and thought I’d put them up tomorrow.  No one would want the job, and it had to be done.

So about 9:45 tonight I was sitting here at my desk, and I heard a meow out the window.  Then I heard another one.  Then I heard another one.  Hey, that’s a cat.  Sounds like our cat.  I hurried to the front door, opened it, and saw him run across the front porch, but he stopped in the adjacent flower bed.  Then he ran in the house.  I followed him in, closed the door, and triumphantly announced that Oliver was home.

Wet, a tad unkempt, and really hungry, but there he is.  There he really is.  Un-frickin’-believable.  It only took him about ten minutes to settle in and get that what-the-hell-is-the-fuss look on his face.  Heh.  I’ve gone over him fairly well for ticks and injuries, and he’s got a tiny laceration on top of his head, but that’s it.  I’ll double-check him in the morning.

I never prayed specifically for Oliver’s return.  I did pray often for peace for two heartbroken little boys.  Delivered—and how.  Thanks, God.

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