Day one of vacation with my furbabies: ‘Oh God! Please Bring My Kitty Back!’

I am a drama queen. I want to not be one because it’s stressful as all get out. But you’d be a drama queen too if you lost your kitty the deep woods of the Northern Minnesota.

Kitty was very unhappy on the car ride, even though he had his bed and litter box and water right next to his carrying case, which was open and had a pillow in that as well.  Loverboy and I were serenaded with nonstop mewing for four hours. Until Kitty climbed out of his cage and under my seat.

Loverboy was a quiet little sweetheart in the front seat, as always.

Still, the ride was surprisingly smooth.

This is where the drama began: I hauled kitty inside, on his long leash. I have a kitty leash attached to a very long doggy leash so that I can always catch him if he makes a run for it. We get inside, I unhook his leash and check out the place. Loverboy follows me upstairs and Kitty is right on his heels. My phone rings. I dash back downstairs. It’s my kitty sitter who is watching over my home for me. (I forgot my hula hoop and he was fedexing it. Arrives tomorrow for $18! Very much worth the investment to me.)

I concluded the conversation with, “Hmmmm…I wonder where Babyboy is. He’s got to be around here somewhere.”

“Well, call me when you find him!” said John.

“I will. I’m sure he’s just hiding.”

Was he ever!!!  I looked in, around and under every nook and cranny, the place has a very Scandinavian design so there aren’t superfluous places for kitties to hide. Or so I thought. Nothing turned him up. I was convinced I must have just left the door ajar enough so that he could sneak outside. He was frightened from the trip, wiggled through the front door and bolted into the bush, which comes right up to the doorstep. (Did I mention this is isolated?)

I cried and screamed for Kitty. Tears ran down my face. I prayed very loudly. (One of the nice things about being isolated is you can be as vocal as your heart desires.)  I called John, who was as distressed as I was, he advised me to beat through the bush in circles around the place, and I was sure to find him.

“He’s probably hiding and watching you,” he assured me.

 I called my handyman, who doubles as my counselor, who advised me to calm down and kitty would indeed return. 

“The kitty isn’t going to show up with you screaming and crying.”

I called Jas, who explained, “Oh, cats do that. Leave some food out. He’ll show up. It’s only been three hours.”

I called my mother, who said a prayer with me.

I called Rockets Redglare, an awesome spiritual woman, and asked for her prayers, too.

Then the owner of the cabin called, “Oh, my cats have disappeared. They always show up in a day or two.”

Except my kitty is an indoor kitty. I imagined every kind of deadly scenario that could befall a confused and scared little creature lost in the Northwoods.

Loverboy and I walked down the hillside, a jungle of trees, vines and flowers, thick and verdant, across tiny narrow bridges to the Baptism River, shallow, amber-colored and fast-flowing. We walked the dirt road lined with daisies and Indian paintbrushes to the makeshift swing gate proclaiming “private property.” (You could just lift the chain and drive right in: The Iron Range’s version of a gated community.)

I cried some more, I called his name, I sang his songs. No kitty. Though I did spy the biggest bunny ever!   

I prayed loudly again.

I gave up and decided to grill some lamb chops that had been marinating in red wine, garlic, olive oil and rosemary for the past 24 hours. Maybe the smell of something delicious might lure the precious pet.

Nothing.

I finally went inside with Loverboy and we dined on the lambchops. I gave him a bite for every one of mine.

Wait. Was that a jingle?

I took Loverboy’s collar off to make sure it wasn’t his nametag.

We commenced to consume lambchop two.

More jingles.

I dashed upstairs, where I had searched underneath the bed, in cabinets, even though they hadn’t been open. And there, in a CRACK IN THE WALL, a little black snout pokes out!

“Oh my God! Oh my God! You’re here! I thought I lost you! Oh praise God! Praise God!” I cried. My prayers had been answered. Kitty looked at me as if to say, “Yeah. So what’s the big deal?” He punctuated that thought up with a hearty yawn.

Even Loverboy looked relieved.

First person I called was John, my kitty sitter. He loves Babyboy and Loverboy as much as I do. In fact, he said he was planning on bringing a four his friends up to look for Kitty tomorrow if he didn’t show up tonight! That warmed my heart. Lord knows, I brought up enough food to easily feed everyone! John was praising God, too, that Kitty was found.

I still can’t figure out how kitty squeezed into that tiny little crack, which has since been plugged with sheets and towels.

Oh, I love the contrast of knowing all is well. That my beautiful kitty and doggy are with me. Kitty still isn’t quite sure of the place, his tail is sitting low. A happy kitty has a high tail; he always walks around with a high tail at home. I just hated the idea of leaving him there in the heat. All alone. I love having my pets with me. They are the joy of my life. I adore their company.

They comfort me.

I realize now bringing the cat may not have been the best idea.

That aside, this place is magical. Just what I wanted – to be lost in the woods. The internet doesn’t work, just as well.  The cabin itself, while borderline rustic, is very tidy with clean lines, and soaring ceilings. You can hear the rushing water from its perch on the hillside.   I can now finally enjoy this place knowing my kitty is safe inside. (He’s thoroughly enjoying the views from the loft, its balcony and vaulted ceilings. A climbing kitty’s dream. )

So happy and relieved.

All is well. We are loved and we are safe.

It’s the not knowing that it’s all going to be okay that’s scary. Oh, how I weeped. I think it’s okay to be a drama queen when it’s about one of the beings that you love most in the whole world. I must remember, when I get freaked out about life,  that it will turn out okay. And as Florence Scovell Shinn says, “My ship will come in over calm seas.”

Finally, I am really looking forward to a good night’s sleep, away from the heat. I’ve only been sleeping four or five hours a night the past week, which certainly doesn’t help tendency toward drama. It feels good and clean up here.