Return of the Monkey

A horrible yowling woke me up at 5 a.m., a full hour before I usually start ignoring my beeping alarm. I laid there trying to ignore it, cursing the stray cat who wouldn’t go away – until I recognized that particular yowl and leapt out of bed in complete disbelief.

Remember Cricket, my beloved cat who was killed by a car last September? (Yeah, it wasn’t him. I don’t write horror stories.)

His brother, Monkey, was a huge comfort to me as I mourned the loss of that little body with the great big personality. Over the winter I got used to having only one cat around as Monkey literally expanded to fill his brother’s boots, bulking up and taking over the morning meditation duties that had been Cricket’s sole domain.

I’m a pretty laid back cat-owner. We get along well that way. I provide food, window sills and affection; they come and go pretty much as they please. So, I don’t usually stress if a cat doesn’t come home for a day or two. But by the beginning of April, when two days had stretched into two weeks I resigned myself to the worst-case-scenario. I assumed Monkey had also exhausted his 9th life.

Fast forward two and a half months. I’ve given the cat food and paraphernalia to the Humane Society. I’ve told the boys we will get another cat someday, but not yet. I’ve started to think that maybe we need to thin the herd by of a golden retriever as well. (Emmet, I’m convinced, is willfully ignorant and intentionally stupid – but that’s probably another blog post altogether.) I’m trying to rest up from a long weekend and there’s a stray cat howling in my back yard.

After 10 weeks of being AWOL, Monkey the cat is skin and bones and happy to be home

But it’s not a stray cat.

It’s Monkey.

A very thin, very hungry, very, very, affectionate Monkey the Cat.

The house feels at peace with itself again.