Pyewacket's Big Adventure

I took that picture last weekend, I think, but it seemed appropriate to illustrate this entry since that's apparently where Pyewacket spent most of this weekend.

I took Thursday and Friday off, and Bob and I went to Branson for a long weekend. We went to Silver Dollar City one day, and had several fun meals (a seafood buffet at a place called Starvin' Marvin's, a ritual lunch at Steak 'n' Shake in Springfield--one of our favorite places--a couple of good breakfasts, and pizza for dinner one night).

Bob's friend Phil, who has a condo on the Lake, happened to be down there, too, and we went over and visited with him one day, and Bob met him and another friend to go fishing late at night a couple of nights, and early this morning. We went to the bookstore and Bass Pro, the big sporting goods store in Springfield, and we hit the outlet mall and a few cheesy souvenir shops.

Since it was just three nights, we figured the cats would be pretty much okay by themselves, but we asked Bob's parents to check on them once while we were gone.

I have this sort of vague, nagging worry about them whenever we're gone overnight; I don't obsess over it, but I do think about them, and hope they're okay. I tried not to worry about them too much this time, but on the drive home I kept thinking that we were going to pull into our street and see Pyewacket standing on the sidewalk. I figured that was dumb--surely if she had gotten out, Bob's folks would have called. Then when we turned into our street, I almost said to Bob, "Remember that time I pulled into the garage and Pyewacket was standing there?" (She had gotten out without him noticing, and stayed out there for a couple of hours, until I came home from work.)

But I didn't say it, and he pulled in back in front of the garage, and we got out and I picked up my purse and knitting bag and bottle of water, and he opened the garage door and I walked in . . . and heard this hoarse little "Mao?" Then a more forceful "Mao!"

"Pyewacket?!" I said. "Kitty???" I honestly couldn't tell where it was coming from, and thought (hoped) that it was one of them crying from inside, but I also smelled cat poop, which instantly made me worry. I opened the door from the garage to the living room, saw Dinah inside, she was fine, and apparently wasn't crying, and I turned around to go back out into the garage, and Pyewacket rushed past me into the house.

I scooped her up. She seemed to be okay. I turned around to Bob, who was bringing in the luggage, and said, "Bob, she was in the garage!" His immediate thought was that he had let her out when we left on Thursday, but I just didn't think that we could have done that. Then I noticed a little garbage bag with cat litter in it, and figured it out--his mom had come over to check on the cats, cleaned out the litter box, and Pye had slipped past her when she put the bag in the garage, and no one noticed.

Bob called his dad when we got in, and he said they'd been over on Friday, so she had been in the garage from Friday sometime until we got home late Sunday afternoon. From the number of dusty cat prints on my car, I figure that's where she spent most of the time. When we took out the trash tonight, we found the little pile of poop next to a pile of (now wet) magazines that had been destined for the trash. She'd staked out a little corner for her toilet.

I fed her, and she ate pretty well, but I imagine a cat could go several days without eating or drinking and be fine. Even so, Bob said next time we go anywhere, he's going to put a bowl of food and a bowl of water out there, just in case. And something soft to sleep on.

She got smelled pretty thoroughly by Dinah when she came in; I imagine Dinah was beside herself, and I'm guessing she spent most of the intervening time crouching by the garage door. I wonder if they talked to each other? I wonder if they tried to figure out how to open the door, or if Dinah tried to reassure her that surely someone would come soon to let her back in? Or if Dinah just relished the time alone, and Pyewacket just settled down to wait?

Bob said, "I wonder if it taught her a lesson?" And before I could even answer, he said, "Oops, guess not," as she slipped out again when he opened the door for something. She did, however, turn right around and come back in. I suppose it might have been for the best, even so--if she hadn't been locked in the garage, she might have slipped out the front door when they left, and that would have been worse.

On our way down to Branson, we stopped at Bob's friend's condo and Bob filled up the boats' gas tanks and set up the battery chargers so they'd be ready to go.

I had to take pictures, of course.