We were hosting a Labor Day cookout when it happened: Our cat, Helo, who had been social all day long, was suddenly nowhere to be found. He wasn't responding to his name or to the sound of my shaking a bag of his favorite treats. And perhaps most tellingly, our other cat, Dora, was sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor, meow-screaming as if to tell us that her brother had gone missing.
Our apartment isn't very big to begin with, & we'd closed off two rooms for the party (mostly to hide the mess). Within the space that was left, there were minimal hiding places: under the bed (which is pretty cleared out), in the closet (which I recently cleaned & reorganized), & in cabinets (which all have doors that pull outward, so a cat could hide in there but not get stuck in there).
We all agreed: Helo seemed to have escaped.
He must've gotten out, we reasoned, during all our back & forth between the back yard & the kitchen. We'd all been careful, but cats are silent ninjas; he could be anywhere by now.
Immediately, I set about doing the most helpful thing: sobbing. Yep, there we were, semi-drunk & surrounded by friends during a really lovely midday picnic, & I started bawling. How could I not? I mean, yeah, he's "just" a cat - but he's a cat who's my best little buddy. he's soft & pretty & indoorsy, & thunderstorm was coming, & he could've been anywhere. Including gone forever.
Our friends sprang into action, scouring our apartment, our yard, the nearby park, & the surrounding areas for anywhere Helo might be hiding. We gave descriptions to neighbors, texted our upstairs duplex-mates to ask them to keep an eye out, & posted a photo in a neighborhood Facebook group. Mike put a litterbox & treats on the patio to try to help Helo recognize the scent of his home. All the while, I continued to cry uncontrollably while yelling my cat's name all around the damn neighborhood. Like a crazy person.
Exhausted, I returned home & looked around the apartment again, just in case. I returned to the only place with dark, hidden corners: the closet. I'd looked there three times already, but why not a fourth?
And there he was, nestled in a duffel bag & covered in winter scarves, his big green eyes staring out at me. I wept harder, this time with joy, as I shouted out the window, "I found him! I found him!" I was so embarrassed to admit that he'd been in the apartment the entire time - but I wasn't the only one who'd scoured our home & failed to find him in his very concealed hiding place.
He's fine, of course, & so am I, if I little bit mortified by my reaction. "Were you really that upset?" one friend asked, when it was all over. Embarrassed as I was, yes, I was definitely that upset. As someone prone to imagining the worst-case scenarios, all kinds of thoughts went through my mind - & the prospect of losing my little dude was devastating. "LOST PET" signs always make me tear up, & I couldn't stop imagining being the person to hang them.
So after all that, Helo's safe at home, like he was the whole entire time - & I'm definitely buying a door for my closet.
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