The thing about cats is that we never intended to have any.
Slash literally walked right into my third floor apartment during a massive rainstorm — the kind of tropical storm-ish downpour where you’re completely soaked the second you step outside, even if you’re still under a roof because the wind is blowing everything sideways –and never left.
(Well, she’s spent the last 5 years trying to escape, but she’s never actually left.)
Kaspar was a friend of a friend’s cat who was going to be put to sleep because their child developed allergies and they couldn’t find anyone to take her. Which, no wonder — she was an odd mix of persian and God only knows what else, overweight, blind in one eye, had the worst breath you’ve ever smelled in your life, a tongue that permanently stuck out because it was too long for her face, and shed all over the house like it was her job.
She was also the sweetest, most laid-back cat I’ve ever met, and OH, we both fell head over heels for her. (Slash, however, took a while longer, but they learned to tolerate each other eventually, which is saying something for two adult female cats.) When we brought Henry home and set him down on the bed, she came up, sniffed him, and immediately started to groom the 4 hairs on his head.
She somehow got out last Thursday and we haven’t seen her since. There are signs and posters up everywhere, ads in our local newspapers, and we’ve been searching the neighborhood and local shelters daily. All of the local vets are aware. She’s microchipped. There’s a trap outside baited with sardines, anchovies and tuna that breaks my heart every time I check on it and see it still empty. Slash is not eating, and Ella searches the house and yard for her every day.
Our hearts are broken, and I don’t say that lightly. It is hard to be hopeful after a week.
We — all of us, even Slash– miss our girl. Our home is not the same without her.