This morning at 6 am I looked out my front window on the porch and there I saw Charlie, our tabby cat, who disappeared six months ago. By the time I deposited Cordelia out back and ran back up to the front porch, Charlie was gone. Again.
I was elated, however, since Charlie was not dead. Even though I had called the City of Beverly Hills and West Hollywood, all the vets in the area, several animal shelters, plus looked at pictures of lost cats on-line shortly after Charlie disappeared – to no avail – I still was secretly afraid that he had been hit by a car and someone had quietly disposed of his body.
But no! There he was in the flesh, if I could just find him again.
I went out to the sidewalk and had to decide whether to go up or down the block and immediately headed on up the street. After all, there was that lady three houses north, who had come to our door one time when Charlie was around and expressed concern about a hurt spot on his face. “I am treating it with antibiotic cream,” I had said and the woman – a little vacant in the eyes from either a physical or mental ailment – had nodded and left. I had also gone to her house to tell her we’d lost Charlie right after he had disappeared and she had gotten a slightly stricken look on her face. In addition, she had a cat who we occasionally saw through her living room window who looked a lot like the only other cat we’ve lost while living here, Charlie’s brother, Hank.
As soon as I reached her yard, I saw Charlie up on her fence. It was early and her curtains were all drawn, so I crossed the front lawn and went up to him. He let me pet him and I made sure it was our cat. Sure enough, there was the scar where he’d had that hurt spot on his face. I tried to pick him up to bring him home, but he was skittish. He slipped out of my hands and off he went, around the corner of the house and down the driveway. I headed home, not sure what to do, but glad my cat was alive and well.
I immediately text-messaged the whole family despite the early hour and within two minutes all had responded with glee. “Hurray!” was the general consensus, but what to do about bringing Charlie home?
It should be said that Charlie is a true outdoor cat, though he spent many a day curled up on daughter Liz’s bed before his disappearance. Still, he is a superb hunter and thrives outside where he brought “gifts” to our back door daily in the form of dead mice, rats and birds. So, the idea of capturing him and making him stay in our house so we could keep him was out of harm’s way was out of the question. Better wild and free than safe and captive. On the other hand, we all were suspicious of the lady up the street. Not only is she odd in her behavior, but Charlie seemed to disappear not too long after that inquiry about his health.
This afternoon, Rachael and I went up and knocked on the woman’s door. She opened the big door, but didn’t open a metal door with little holes in it where she could see us, but we couldn’t see her. “Can I help you?” we heard through the door.
“We’ve come to tell you that we’ve seen Charlie.”
She opened the door, stepped outside, then closed the door behind her quickly. “I don’t want my cat to get out,” she said.
Rachael and I exchanged glances. Our cat was what we were both thinking.
“You saw Charlie?” she said, eyes opening wide in surprise. “Where? When?”
“This morning right on your fence,” I said.
“Oh, how wonderful,” she said. “I love Charlie! You’ve made my day.”
Rachael stood five feet away, arms crossed over her chest, her face in a silent glare.
“Okay, well, we hope to see him again,” I said.
She nodded and went back inside.
“She stole him, I just know it,” Rachael said as we headed home.
I couldn’t help but think that maybe she had.
So now, we don’t know if Charlie is back in her house, doubly locked up since his escape.
I hope not. I hope we’re being paranoid and he is just a wanderer who is happily living out in the neighborhood.
But I’m afraid he might be being held hostage in a house three doors up.
I plan to get up early tomorrow morning and go out on the hunt. I might take a kennel with me to bring Charlie home if I see him. I can’t stand the idea that he’s somebody’s little captive. Better at our house where we can slowly acclimate him to being back outside then in some crazy woman’s house under lock and key.
I guess a search warrant is out of the question…
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