It is possible, although not likely, that my cat will return. I know that it is, in many ways, my fault he is missing. I let him outside that Tuesday evening. He always goes out at least twice a day. Once in the morning where he goes across the yard to the house behind ours, climbs up their stairs, peeks in at Rich and Pam鈥檚 two cats, wanders down to our next-door neighbors, wrapping around their familiar legs as they pull weeds from their legs, around to the front where he sits on their porch, then back home to the picnic table upon which he jumps up to stare through the window, impatiently, while I take a photo to post to Facebook. Every day for two years I posted a photo of him looking in at me as he stood upon the picnic table until I let him in. I typed my morning letters as he ate his breakfast.
I know it is frowned upon to let cats out. Cats kill birds, and Zane did sometimes鈥攏ot often, he had a big bell on his collar鈥攂ut often enough to make him a predator. I warned him, you play this game, it might come back to bite you in the ass. They call bells on collars 鈥渃oyote dinner bells.鈥� And you鈥檙e also not supposed to let them out because the world outdoors is dangerous. See Coyote. See Car. See Trapped in Garage. See Anti-freeze tastes delicious but will kill you.
But he was very good about coming home, mostly. He got caught in a tree a couple of times which stressed everyone in the family out. He stayed out overnight a few times. He got trapped in our neighbor鈥檚 garage for a couple hours once. But mainly, for 8 years, he has been a good cat who comes in when called, who kills mainly mice, and even then, only on occasion, who literally knocks on the window if I鈥檓 not there to let him in, who poses for photos for social media, who sleeps between my shoulder and neck, who meows louder than a train horn if you don鈥檛 let him out when he wants, and who purrs as loud as that same train鈥檚 rumbling wheels.
On that Tuesday evening, I let him out like usual鈥攐ut the back door. I called to him to come home an hour later. He didn鈥檛 come, but I wasn鈥檛 worried. Sometimes he does cat around past dark. But by ten I was nervous. I jostled the bag of Temptation Cat Treats to convince him to come. That usually works. I tried again at eleven. I went to bed, but I woke up to call and shake the cat treats every hour.
By Wednesday afternoon, I was really worried. I posted on Facebook Lost Pets of Northern Arizona, Lost Pets of Flagstaff, the Next Door app, my FB page. I was worried people would yell at me for letting him out but getting him back was more important. My post on NextDoor had over a thousand views. My kids and I put fliers in every mailbox in our neighborhood (I hope the USPS forgives me). My husband emailed every veterinarian. The vets put his photo on their walls. People shared the Facebook posts, gave me advice, told me stories of cats who came back a week, two weeks, four weeks later. I think most of Flagstaff was looking for that cat by Saturday afternoon. I walked and walked and walked, calling his name, which, as time went on, felt more foolish. But I could not stop. I pictured Zane being eaten by a coyote. I spoke to Zane in my head, 鈥渋f you play with fire, you鈥檙e gonna get burned.鈥� I tried to be realistic, but then I did research. Domestic cats comprise only 1% of coyote鈥檚 diets. Foxes don鈥檛 kill cats鈥攖hey鈥檙e the same size. Javelinas might defend themselves if a cat attacks, but they鈥檙e herbivores. We鈥檝e looked to the sky to see if the vultures circle near our neighborhood. So far, no evidence that Zane is dead. But, no evidence that he鈥檚 not either.
I am not a very patient person. I鈥檓 working on it, as I imagine most people are, but the virtue that it is might be the hardest one to become. Hurry up and wait is how we spend so much of our time: at doctor鈥檚 offices, to get paid, to find publishers for our books (my truest least patient skill), for our kids to come home from work or dates, for the promotion or a new job or the next big thing! Temperance. Chastity. Charity. Those seem easier to perform at least than patience, which is a quiet thing and most of the time I am louder than I need to be鈥攈ence, the yelling out Zane鈥檚 name throughout the night. But patience also isn鈥檛 really a choice. I can鈥檛 make Zane come home. I suppose patience might be not tearing myself up inside for all the woulda coulda shouldas or the terrible images that play through my head re: trapped in garages or the killing strategies of coyotes. It doesn鈥檛 matter how fast I want Zane to come back. If he comes back, I will be very lucky. But I鈥檒l just have to wait for that time. I do believe you also can make your own luck鈥攎aybe even speed it up. If you want to see patience in action, come see me standing in front of one of the second homes in our neighborhood where people come for a weekend and leave before checking to see if a cat named Zane is in their garage. I鈥檒l be standing, jar against door, listening quietly for that loud meow.