Nine Lives and a Sixth Sense
Don’t give up before the miracle happens.
~Fannie Flagg
My very first fur baby was a fluffy white, part-Persian cat named Rebel. We got him as a kitten from the SPCA, and he quickly took over the house and our hearts. He was almost six months old when he disappeared, and I was heartbroken.
We had already made an appointment to get him neutered, but it was too late. He must have been in the mood to prowl, so when we had company one day, he snuck out while they were walking in.
We searched for him everywhere, canvassing the neighbourhood, putting up posters, and even offering a reward. I checked the pound and the emergency vet clinic to see if he had been injured or picked up. No one had seen him, so we kept searching.
We lived in the city, close to a high-traffic road, and Rebel didn’t have “street smarts” because he was an indoor cat. We also suspected that if he got lost, he wouldn’t be able to find his way home. Every time we went out, I would search for him as we drove down the road. Nothing.
Weeks went by with no sign of our cat. Everyone said I had to accept the inevitable — either he was dead, or someone else had him and was giving him a good home. I didn’t accept that. I just couldn’t.
After two weeks with no sign of him, we put his bed, toys, food, bowls, and litter box into storage so we wouldn’t have to walk by the sad reminders every day. But I still wasn’t ready to give up.
One morning, I left for work a few minutes early and started walking to the bus stop a block away. It was a nice autumn day, crisp and sunny — a good day for a walk. I arrived at the bus stop and checked to see if the bus was coming, but I was still a little early.
Something told me to keep going, so I decided to walk to the next bus stop. I got there and saw the bus coming, but I just kept walking, watching the bus whiz by, knowing I was going to be late for work. But something told me to keep going.
I continued to walk for another twenty minutes, veering into a neighbourhood I wasn’t familiar with — and walked right up to my cat! He was sitting by a fence and he was filthy, no longer white, more of a dirty brown colour. He was matted and stinky, and had a scab on a ragged torn ear. He was so scrawny.
I called his name as I scooped him into my arms. His motorboat purr was as loud as I remembered, and he pushed his dirty face into mine. I teared up with happiness because I had found my cat.
I turned around and carried him home. He purred all the way. When we got there, I refilled his bowls with food and water and set up his litter box. I cuddled him some more and then phoned to tell my boss I was on my way, promising to make up the time I had missed. I had another quick snuggle with my cat, washed up, grabbed my bags, and ran to catch the next bus.
Work was busy, so I didn’t have a chance to call my husband and tell him that I had found our cat. When he came home from work that afternoon, he was shocked to find a dirty, smelly cat in the house — one he didn’t recognize.
At first he thought it was a stray that had somehow gotten into the house. But after a minute he realized it was really our cat, so he gave Rebel a bath, getting rid of most of the dirt and bad smell.
When I finally walked through the door an hour later, I told him the story about getting a weird premonition and walking until I got to a strange neighbourhood — and found Rebel.
He just shook his head. “After I bathed him, I finally believed it was really our cat. But when I first saw him, all matted, dirty and skinny, I wouldn’t have recognized him in a million years. I can’t believe you did!”
I’m so glad I was blessed with a sixth sense that day and kept walking past bus stop after bus stop on my way to finding our wayward cat. We took him to the vet to make sure he was okay and arranged to get him fixed as soon as possible. After that, Rebel stayed put, never wandering away again, which was a good thing because I have a feeling he had already used up most of his nine lives.
— Lori Kempf Bosko —
Image source : © pixabay.com
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