Prodigal Returns
And so do we
Around midnight, last night, after I had finished reading, I noticed some cat on a windowsill, out of my view, softly mewing for something.
Odd.
Usually, ours climb the screen clamoring loudly, get yelled at, and have to wait awhile for their food, as punishment. I roused myself from the recliner, fetched a cup of dry food to reward this quiet one, and opened the door, when I realized our missing gray tom, a four-day runaway, had returned, starving and affectionate.
I’d seen it before. The wandering cat usually reappears emptied of all but a new appreciation for the comforts of home.
Being gone so long is hard on a cat
He was skinny. Aside from his plush winter coat, there wasn’t much to give him bulk. I picked him up to cuddle a moment and noticed the difference in his weight.
He was dirty. We had only the moon for light, but I could feel grubbiness on his fur, and something stiff in it, I hoped wasn’t dried blood. I put him down, and although he played at biting my toes for more attention, I wanted to wait until I could see what was wrong with him. I didn’t want to touch any sores. Besides, he needed to eat.
He was comical. He traced a circle between food, water, and toes, and back again…
