This was my last morning watching my sister's cats. I had to feed them before I left for work. My instructions were to feed George first, then Charlie. No problem! In the past day or so they have stopped hiding all the time, so I figured they'd come out to the food bowls no problem!
Well, half a problem. Charlie was out there like a shot, but there was no sign of George.
Okay, still no problem. I'll just take the bowl of food and show it to George. That'll get him out here!
So I took George's bowl, put the food in it and began to walk around the house calling him.
Under the bed?
Behind the couches?
Under the toilet or in the tub?
No, I didn't manage to flush him out of the bathroom. (Sorry, I couldn't resist!)
Windowsills, closets, under tables, under chairs, on top of the refrigerator, behind the laundry equipment, back in the bedroom to check in the bed, under the spare bed ...
That's when I vocalized what had been nagging at the back of my mind as I searched. Something I had been afraid to look at as a real possibility. I looked at Charlie, who was pacing me the entire time, just praying to whatever Greater Being cats pray to that I would drop that bowl of food.
He looked at me.
"Do you think George got out?"
His response was to replace his unblinking stare on the bowl I still held, so no help there.
I started moving faster, looking in all the places I had just looked in the vain hope that I had looked right at him and just not seen him the first time. In the bed, under the bed, couches, toilet, tub, windowsills, closets, under tables, under chairs, on top of the refrigerator, behind the laundry equipment, under the spare bed. The whole time I was waving the food and calling his name, again and again; in my mind however, a different mantra was playing.
She's gonna kill me ... She's gonna kill me ...
But still, I found nothing.
I was running out of time, and I had to leave for work. That's when I remembered a place that my sisters cat used to get into when we were kids. I went over the end of one of the couches, the end that has the recliner built into it, and carefully pulled the leg rest up.
There, inside the couch I had previously only thought to look behind, was George.
Trying to remain calm and have a nice, calm voice, I asked him, "What the hell are you doing in there?" In answer he casually rose and stalked out of the couch through an opening in the side of the frame, just so I'd know that he was never trapped or anything, but had chosen to remain in there while I searched the house frantically. Twice.
...and then some.
As I knelt there, watching George vacate the furniture, Charlie bumped my hand roughly with his head, trying to jostle me into dropping the food bowl I was still carrying.
"You were not a lot of help," I told him.
He meowed and licked his lips.
I finished getting ready and managed to be only 10 minutes late for work.
Yup. Cats. What fun!
The real pisser is, I still like the both of them.
Talk to you later!