As reported last week, Timile’s cat Curtis ran away. All that night, Cydney kept asking over and over “Where’s Curtis?” I told her I had no idea where he is. I was kinda down all of Friday since he decided to leave. I walked around the block looking for him. I looked in the brook by our house and looked up hoping he didn’t climb up some of these trees that are in abundance out here. He didn’t appear. My family helped me look around the neighborhood later that evening. My mother said she called for him and heard a cat’s cry similar to his when he runs away. Eventually he got quiet because Cydney kept yelling for him and as she did he got quiet. As irritable as I was, I went to bed early. I had work to do, but I fell asleep in my clothes. I think I did before Cydney did.
Saturday morning, around 4:30 I woke up. There was no reason other than I’m ma light sleeper. From my window, I could hear it was raining outside. I also heard a faint cry. I went from being groggy and able to go right back to sleep to alert because I knew who it was. I jumped up, grabbed some shoes, and ran outside. I looked under the house in our normal meeting spot, and there he was. Curtis was under the house scared and ready for someone to come and get him. As opposed to the evening before, when I came to get him he leaned forward for me to grab him. I reached for him by the back of his neck, pulled him close, crawled from under the house, and went inside.
I was happy to see him and told him that I was but that I was mad at him. I was actually very mad at him. The only reason he came back that night was because it was raining. He went where there was shelter and said “Ok, I’m done with being outside.” I know from experience with our other cat, Lamont Sanford (Yes, that was his name. #RIP) that cats go out and come back. However, while Lamont was old his demise came from going outside and he got into a fight with some raccoon. He came back with a chunk taken out of his leg and he was never the same until he was put to sleep a few months later. I didn’t want the same thing to happen to Curtis because I know that a raccoon gives not one iota of a fuck. There’s no other word to emphasize their mentality than that. As mad as I was, I was glad he was back. He spent a good portion of Saturday moping around the house as if it was his way of being apologetic.
A week later, everything is back to normal as if nothing ever happened. The only difference is that Curtis no longer looks out the big glass door to the backyard when the storm door is open. He wants to parts of outside now.