I’m a horrible cat-mom.
One of my cats went missing the night from Saturday to Sunday. We don’t know how and when exactly, but somehow he mananged to vanish from the house without a trace.
He isn’t used to the outside. It’s dangerous out there, dogs and cars and other tomcats defending their territory. He was missing for the whole day.
Hubby was a wreck. He imagined him steamrolled on the main road, mauled to shreds by freeroaming Rottweilers, drowned in a neighbor’s pool or simply lost somewhere too far for him to find back.
I imagined him lying somewhere under a hedge or in a garage during the hot hours, grinning to himself every time hubby went by shouting his name.
But he’s a male. I knew he would come back when he got hungry.
After sundown, I locked the other two furry monsters into the bathroom, opened every single door outside and placed a bowl with cooked chicken liver in the middle of the living room.
20 minutes later…
Men are so predictable. Hubby was not amused. (That’s a lie. He was overjoyed.)