I was going to write about the heartache, the life and death reality, of living in the country. I was going to write about how we would always associate our trip to Disney with the disappearance of our cat. I was going to write about how I'd hardened by heart to her once she became an indoor/outdoor cat because of the deadly twin certainties of the fox and the road.
But the cat didn't get mad at us for going away for a week and stay out all night in minus 12 temperatures and miss not only breakfast but supper nor was she eaten eaten by the fox.
She was locked in the garage for more than 48 hours.
Given the freezing rain that is forecasted, my husband ordered in tonnes of salt to fill up the dome at the local DOT garage so he wasn't home when I let the two dogs out early this morning. The pup returned to the door but the old girl didn't. When I called her and listened for the sounds of her trotting back, I heard instead, "Mew."
I called again then listened. Heard another mew, then the rooster crowing. Who said the country was quiet? Grabbing my keys, I headed to the garage and opened the door. No one was there but after I called out, "Hello?", Fern appeared, assured herself it was me then ran to the house.
Her first stop inside was at the dogs' water dish.
I called my husband at work. "Did you go into the garage on Saturday night?"
"Yeah, I wanted to make sure no one had been in it while we were away."
After a can of salmon dinner, Fern seemed less skittish but her green eyes remained as round as saucers. As if, just like us, she had seen the biggest mouse ever.
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