The Hiding Spot

All of these veterinary appointments are stressing me out. I can only imagine how much worse they are for Julie. 

To boot, she’s now on two medications. The Gabapentin, still, for pain. And now Clavamax, an antibiotic. She has developed an infection in her mouth. 

The Clavamax requires refrigeration. But I forgot to take it out of the car when delivering Julie home after her first radiation. Now it’s heading to work with me. I panic; is the medicine going to go bad if not refrigerated? So I drove with one hand on the wheel, holding the Clavamax next to the air conditioner, which is blasted full power. I must look like a madman. (I have a fridge in court I can use during the day, in case you were wondering.) 

Julie has taken to hiding more than usual. Especially when she sees me going into the kitchen, or carrying a vial of medicine. I have to sneak up on her if I’m going to give her meds these days. 

On Saturday, I don’t see Julie for most of the day. I’m meeting a friend for dinner later. Right before leaving, I scour the house trying to find her. I’ve taken to closing doors to rooms that provide the best hiding options for her. For example, the master bedroom. I can’t fit under the bed. If she hides in the middle, I can’t reach her. With two people, you could figure out a way to flush her out, but with one it’s borderline impossible. A little embarrassing, too. 

At dinner, I can barely concentrate on the food or the conversation. I’m panicked about Julie. Where is she? Is there any chance she got out? I was recently in touch with Amy, better known in these circles as the mother of Lola — the woman we adopted Julie from in Boston back in 2007. She told me about Duncan, her old cat, the orange tabby photographed here. Duncan went missing about a year ago. He was old, and in poor health.

“He was 15 years old, he just slipped out and that was that,” she told me. “We looked for him for months, we still are looking for him technically but I think he knew it was his time and snuck off to pass away. I've read that older cats will do that so that their humans don't have to deal with their remains. They're truly incredible creatures!”

Gosh, the idea of Julie slipping out to die somewhere else…I just can’t process that. 

After I get home from dinner, I call Angela to ask her opinion. Where could Julie be?

“Try under the futon in your office,” she says.

“I looked there. Several times”

“Check again. Sometimes she climbs up into the fold beneath it and you can’t see her.” 

I reach under the futon, feeling for an invisible cat. A few seconds later, I feel the unmistakable warmth and softness of cat fur. 

Ahhhh. Relief. Rather than risk life and limb getting her out of there, I let her be and go to bed. 

The next morning, again, I can’t find her. It’s been almost a day now, and I need to feed her, as well as give her medication. Again, I check the whole house for her. This time, I pay special heed to below the futon. But she’s not there. 

Exasperated, I head back to the kitchen. And there she is, sitting plaintively by her food dish, looking at me like: Where ya been?