Our house is too quiet. There’s no "rrr rrrrrr?" chirps and trills, no occasional thuds as someone falls off the couch. Instead, it’s too silent.
Some of you will remember my tale of Sasha the Christmas Cat, our Yule Gift from the Universe. He is solid white, with large copper eyes and a sweet kitten face, even though he weighs in at around 12-14 pounds and is built like a tiger who shrank in the wash. He’s the happiest cat I’ve ever known, loves everyone, lives for petting, enjoys being in lap or curled up with other cats. He’ll enter a room, and purr loudly enough to hear from ten feet away, simply because there’s a person or another cat in the room. He’s really love on four big furry feet. And during the time leading up to Dad’s most recent hospitalization and then during his rehab at a longterm care facility, that love has made us smile and kept us going.
When we first found him as a stray, he was going to be a guest until we could find a no-kill shelter to take him. But Sasha had a different idea. He learned where the other cats ate and used the litter box and demanded to do the same. He worked overtime at becoming part of our feline family. He wanted to belong. He stayed. And he was ours, or maybe we were his. By the end of the first week, I doubt we could have given him up.
Although Sasha was thrilled to be with people, he really didn’t understand a lot of being a cat. He didn’t know how to play with a ball or a catnip mouse. He had to watch the others to get the idea. Once he grasped the concept, though, he would wear himself out playing until he collapsed on the couch. And he desperately wanted to play with the youngest of my four felines, Morgana. One day, after she’d accepted that he wasn’t going away and had stopped hissing at him, he tried to entice her to play with his favorite thing, a footlong piece piece of marabou feathers attached to a stick, by showing her what you did with it, then dragging it over to her and literally handing it to her (he is very handed, and holds things in his paws, though he’s not a polydactyl). He has the outgoing, friensly personality of a labrador in a cat body; our nickname for him was the labracat.
And a week ago, as my husband was trying to wrestle his new guitar inside after a couple of hours jamming with our neighbor, Sasha somehow slipped out. I wasn’t there to play kitty wrangler because I’d gone to bed early with a headache. We didn’t even realize he was gone until the next morning, when we didn’t hear his usual chirps (he sounds like a Maine Coon, though he’s short-haired) and the heavy thud as he landed on the bed to wake us up. The odd thing is he’s never wanted to go out, even when we let him out in the back yard under careful supervision. He would only go out if our large brown tabby went with him, and even then he wouldn’t leave the porch
We’ve canvassed the neighborhood, searching in the car and on foot, including the two neighboring subdivisions. We’ve alerted the neighborhood kids to keep an eye out for him. We’ve registered him with Animal Control, so they can call us if they pick him up. We’ve stuck fliers in mailboxes. Every time we leave the house, we keep an eye peeled for a flash of white.
Nothing.
I fear he’s gone for good. My only hope is that he originally had a home nearby, somehow got lost, and has now found his way home to his original family. It’s been terribly rainy and cold here at night, and I hate the thought of Sasha out there alone, wet, cold and scared.
Some of you won’t get this. My cats are family members. I love them. I sure like them a lot more than many human beings. They give us affection and joy and laughter. And Sasha is a very special cat, perhaps the sweetest, most affectionate, most harmless animal I’ve ever known. I’ve been crying over him for a week now, and so has my husband. To some of you, this will seem like an over-reaction, an over-investment in what is "just a cat". I will ask those of you to feel that way, be decent or kind enough to keep your opinions to yourself; I don’t need to hear that right now. If you’ve never had that sort of bond with an animal, you can’t fathom it. Frankly, I like my cats a lot more than most of my relatives and in-laws, and they give me a lot more support and affection. My youngest cat has been crawling into my lap and being comforting.
Mostly I’m writing this to those who do understand what losing a feline family member—a Person in Fur—and asking for prayers to Deity of choice, good thoughts, vibes, however you choose to view it. Ask that Sasha comes home, or that we at least learn who has him and that he’s safe.
If he doesn’t, we’re getting a kitten. Because this house is just too damned quiet. Our other cats are 14 , 15 and 20, and the youngest is 5, and she’s going stir-crazy without her partner in mischief. It’s just too damned quiet. And I am going back to bed, because I seem to be coming down with the virus that’s had my husband throwing up all night.