Living on the Porch

Since getting our cat back and confining her to the porch, both of us have to adjust.

First, allow me, dear reader, to orient you to the scene so you might visualize what I am about to relate.

There is a door from the kitchen to the screened porch where the cat resides.  Above the kitchen is the bedroom, where my wife lays her pretty head.

I was in the kitchen.  I clearly heard my name repeated over and over.  “Al.   Al.   Al.   Al.”  Concerned, I went upstairs to the bedroom to see what Sugar was calling me about.  I was concerned that something was wrong.  When I opened the bedroom door, I saw that Sugar was still sound asleep.  I concluded that she was dreaming about me and calling my name with joy.

Then I returned to the kitchen to make some tea.  Immediately, I heard my name being called again.  Puzzled, because I had just checked on my wife, I listened carefully for the source of the sound.

You guessed it — the cat was meowing my name, demanding to be fed. 

So, I woke Sugar up and told her to feed the cat!  No, I didn’t, but I had you for a second.  I fed the cat.  What a good boy am I!

We are glad to have the cat back home, but another person has lost her cat.  The same neighbor who told us that she found our cat, and closed it in the tack room in her barn so we could recover it, called yesterday to ask if we had seen her white cat that lives in her barn.  (Was she accusing us of stealing her cat?)  Maybe her cat misses our cat and will show up here, but so far it has not.

If it does, I will teach it to say my name.  Then when it needs anything, I will come a runnin’.

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