My cat is a bitch. She is ornery and hostile, and she likes to sit on my lap with her rear in my face. That is, when she allows me the pleasure of her company. She spends most of her time in a self-imposed solitude, either in our bed in an empty bedroom or the sock-monkey dog bed I got her in an effort to limit her time on our bed. She sheds a lot. I tell you this to explain why I would purchase a novelty bed for a cat, not as another example of her poor attitude. Brody doesn't like to wear a collar, so she isn't allowed outside. I'm a silly woman, and I can't have my cat roaming the city streets without proper identification. I'll expect the same from my children when they exist. Psychologically, this is probably related to a mean neighbor I had growing up who put traps out for the neighboorhood cats and delivered them to the pound without question. But this is not a story about me.
This morning Mr. Carlson and I noticed that Brody was no where to be found. We took turns looking through the usual places - under beds and couches, near piles of laundry, under boxes waiting to be taken to the recycling bin. No Brody. We expanded our search to Lola's favorite hiding spaces (our other cat) - on top of the water heater, dining room chairs, the bathtub. No Brody. I remark to Mr. Carlson that on Hoarders the trouble usually started when the person had enough junk around to loose a cat in. We are teetering.
We demise that Brody probably jumped out the backdoor last night when the air conditioner was in use. What an adventure she must have had. Out for an entire evening and into the following afternoon. I got worried when the sun came up blazing again today, so around noon I took a walk around our building calling her name and making puckering sounds, her cat call. Despite the heat and having no access to food or water since the night before, she remained AWOL.
I finally found her on my third search, around 3pm. There was Brody laying out in the sun on the deck of a neighbor's unit. Relaxed on her side, her arms stretched above her head, she looked peppered and thymed with dirt and roughage from the property's shrubs. She seemed excited to see me until I picked her up and carried her (as much as she allowed me) to the front door. She whined and fought, evading my rescue while I tried to unlock the front door.
The wild Brody remains at large, roaming the finely manicured landscape of our condo complex. And by "roaming" I mean hiding behind a giant bush, whining for me to make the street traffic outside our complex disappear so she has the courage to scurry the seven feet between her and the door.
Side Note: I wanted to include a picture of our subject, however I have finally reached the point where the number of pictures I have of my cats are outweighed by the number of photos of actual life experiences, marking my final departure from cat ladydom.
