As we all remember, I have three cats. Quick review since even my friends forget my cats’ names:
Loki (norse god of mischief and fire) looks like he ate the fourth cat but probably just laid down and tried to get the other cat to rub his belly.
Juno (goddess of women and jealousy) is the wily hunter who has no front claws which means she just gets to screw with her prey for longer.
And Calliope (muse of epic poetry) is the missing one.
They all have long and inspiring stories of how we saved them.
Nutshell: Nobody wanted them. In fact, Loki and Calliope of them had to be kept separate from the other kittens. Pretty much like I would be in the animal shelter. Biting the hand that feeds me. (Or in Loki’s case, the toes.) And Juno was returned by her I-dont-love-her owner. We had to introduce her to the concept of BEING PET. (not being A pet. but being TOUCHED.)
Now most people adore Juno and Loki.
And most people have never SEEN Calliope.
Calliope’s anxiety is like a pregnant lady recalling her hemorrhoid right after finishing a pizza fra diavolo.
This high-strung-ness eventually led to her to pee on everything (the cat not the made-up pregnant lady). And there was nothing we or the vet or YOU could do. So after three years of trying to convince her bladder to stop FREAKING OUT and throwing out EVERY SINGLE RUG WE OWNED, we built a cat shelter outside and she lived in our backyard.
She did great. Much love and food and some mild adventure running away from the ever-unpredictable FALLING LEAF. She even ventured into the FRONT YARD! Once!
And then we got THE DOG. And even though she still COULD go into her cat house and be completely separate from the dog by AT LEAST TEN FEET, the fact that a dog would appear AT ALL was too much.
So she left our backyard in favor of our neighbor’s garage’s attic. She came back once a day at 11 p.m. and luckily blogging keeps me from sleeping so I could feed her. Thus, MY BLOG SAVED HER LIFE.
I fretted though. She wasn’t eating enough. She wasn’t getting enough attention.
So we built her a cat house INSIDE and brought her in. (It took three days to catch her.)
And she lived inside. And she did great. She even began making friends with the dog.
But we have a cat harness and leash. Making us awesome. And stupid.
And out we brought Calliope. FOR FRESH AIR. Again, BECAUSE WE’RE STUPID.
And I needed to go in for a moment. And Scott and the kids were already inside. I attached the leash to the porch railing.
And when I came back out, I only had leash and harness. And two cats.
We waited. And waited. And waited. And called and called and called.
We finally caught a glimpse of her in our neighbor’s garage’s attic many days later. But she was too far back to catch and not have one of us die. And if one of us dying while capturing her is getting to the question in eighth grade debate class: If a sinking boat had a dog and a child in it, who would you save? Except she’s not even sinking. (I hope.)
So we waited and waited and waited. And called and called and called.
And we rechecked the garage attic today, and she wasn’t there.
So if you see a calico tail flash. Or perhaps a hoarse, somewhat neurotic, meow. LET ME KNOW. But don’t try to catch her. She’s much faster and more dangerous than she looks.
Unless you have a very nice house that you are bequeathing to me. They always forget that point in the boat debate.
Update: I spied Calliope running away from my husband tonight! SHE’S ALIVE. AND LIKE A CHEETAH! (Someone please bring her home.)