Black cat. Answers to “puppy”. Does tricks. Loves humans. Believes he’s a dog. Reward. Please call…

Except I don’t expect my phone to ring.

Chaos, aka NeedyCat, got outside a few months ago. He gave me a heart attack. I debated the idea of trying to find a black cat in the dark and realized it was stupid, so I went to bed and pouted myself to sleep. The little jerk was on the back porch in the morning giving me that “feed me, woman” look. Heavy sigh. He was back. He was alive.

And he snuck out again.

And again.

And became as bad as the kids with the in and out.

We were used to it. We laughed about it. He was running the neighborhood and all the other animals knew he was in charge. I watched him take down a squirrel, stalk a bird, heard him best several other cats in the night, and warned him off his cocky high horse when I saw him stick his dukes up at the dog across the way. He started bringing us “presents,” so Bob started requesting critters. Chaos went out and brought back a cicada in perfect condition, which was promptly put into the freezer for Qwee, who had actually requested it in the first place. He was out and about and having fun. It was okay though, because he always came back.

Until last week.

It’s been seven days now since I’ve seen him. His bowl, moved outside so he’d have food when he wanted, hasn’t been touched. He hasn’t howled to be let in. He hasn’t perched on the screen door waiting to scare the hell out of me in the morning. He’s just gone.

I spent the first three days figuring he’d found a friend and was running and having fun and just coming around when I wasn’t looking.

I spent the next three days convincing myself that either a little girl or a little old lady had adopted him, and while they didn’t let him outside, they did love him and he was happy.

Today reality is trying to pry its way into my mind.

I’m fighting it.

But I know better.

Chaos is gone. NeedyCat has most likely been hit by a car or otherwise injured and is laying in a forgotten patch of grass somewhere.

As a last ditch effort, I’m calling the pound and vets to see if anyone has a black stray. If they do then I’ll cry my way back to this post and tell you.

If they don’t I’ll still cry… but I won’t say another word about it.

Welcome to Thursday. You really want a question? How about this… what was the worst loss you had with a pet? You won’t cheer me up, but you can at least commiserate with me.

I loved that stupid cat. He was cool. And smart. And turned a dog boy into a cat boy. He really was the best cat ever…

He should have stayed inside.