Whatever It Is, Continued Again

Okay, so I get to Cambridge, minus Sweet Pea, on Tuesday night, and Star Child is thrilled to see me. Semi-conscious, I get to take her to Sing-a-long at the local library on Wednesday and then to ballet class (!) on Wednesday afternoon.

In the meantime, Amah is telling me I am insane to have left Sweet Pea behind, and prompted by guilt, because of course I'm thinking exactly the same thing, I get online and make a reservation, using miles, to come (because that's where I am now) back to Silver ASAP. ASAP proves to be Thursday afternoon from Logan/Boston at the cost of only (sincerely) $50, and I make the reservation and email my tenants that I'm coming back to get Sweet Pea. I tell them I'll be in Silver for four nights, and if my staying at the house is inconvenient for them, I'll take myself off somewhere with friends.

Sunday September 18
Well, I'm not in Silver now, I'm in New York, but to attempt to continue this saga before Christmas is here, I rented a car and, drawing a veil over the fact I had no idea how to drive it and could go no faster than 48 mph for the first hour, got to Silver at about 11:30. Tenants, as requested, had left the patio light on and the door unlocked, as my keys were on the ring with the car key B was keeping for the winter, and the first thing I did after I dumped my bag in the house was open the laundry room door to the outside and call for Sweet Pea.

He was right there, right where he usually hangs out at night before condescending to come in for wet food, and miaowed immediately, but it took more than an hour before he would come into the house after his two nights in the wild. As soon as he was in and gobbling away, I checked my email and found an ultimatum - two, actually - from my formerly sane tenants.

Wounded and upset by my thoughtless method of informing them via email that I intended to return and re-occupy the house for four days and totally ignoring my offer to stay with friends if my return was inconvenient to them, they informed me they were moving out of the house until Monday and would return only if I shelled out $400 for their expenses for the long weekend. Should this be unacceptable, they would expect their $700 for the month to be refunded and would never darken my door again.

As the label says, you sort it out.

Whatever It Is, Continued

So as I said, as I was loading bags into the car on Tuesday morning and being lazy and piling them at the bottom of the front steps as I carried them out rather than taking them individually to the car on the pad, Sweet Pea managed to claw his way out of his carrier and take off for the barn. I believe the feeling that I experienced, watching this, is known as "stunned disbelief." If it isn't, I can 't come up with anything better.

Knowing what a complete and absolute waste of time it was, I followed him down the slope and got within ten feet of him as he sat in the doorway, but as I knew would happen - he might not be too swift mentally but there are no flies on Sweet Pea - as I got closer he bolted down to the crick and I turned around and went back to the house. I called B, who was going to come down to EL Paso with me and then drive the Volvo back and keep it for the winter, and she suggested I give it another 30 minutes and see if SP came back to the house. Again, knowing SP as I do, I was aware the chances of his coming back to the house to enter voluntary imprisonment in the dreaded black box for 12 hours were minimal, but I busied myself doing God knows what before calling her again for an update.

With hindsight, it probably (probably?) wasn't the best decision to have made, but on three hours sleep it seemed like a good idea at the time. "He'll come back to the house when he's hungry," B said, "and you can ask your tenants to feed him for a month or so and then come back out and get him." "Right," I say, thinking of Star Child awaiting my arrival that night and completely ignoring the fact that I know Sweet Pea won't go anywhere near the house if he knows strangers are in it and I'm not. "What's the worst that can happen?" I go on, Miss Stiff Upper Lip on Celexa and Wellbutrin. "He'll get eaten by a coyote or go feral. I'll pick you up in 15 minutes."

I leave a note for my tenants, who are still asleep, saying "You've got a cat" and explaining that he escaped, and go to pick up B, who is probably a better person than me to describe the subsequent drive to El Paso with me at the wheel. By the grace of something we make it to the airport unscathed and I get to Logan only an hour late, to be met by Big Thomas and Star Child, who has been waiting patiently for her Pamla, which, for the moment, makes it all worthwhile.

Again, to be continued. There's already lots more.