After pouring through my Picasa folders, I discovered I don't have that many pictures of Putty Tat. You know how it is, you take lots of pictures of the baby, but sometimes the older ones, not so much. Our baby, of course, being Leyna, the dog.
I feel like a bad person this morning, a bad mother. As I was bringing Leyna inside last night, after doing her last 'business' of the night, I saw Putty come running toward us from across the yard. I hurried on inside. With one last glance over my shoulder, I saw her bewildered face as I said "no" and closed the door. Just a twinge of guilt.
It isn't that I have no regard or affection for the cat, but cleaning up piles of puke and hairballs from all over my furniture yesterday had hardened me somewhat against her pitiful look. The cat is not sick. She's seemingly quite healthy, and she's not thin. I think she's just bulimic. And we won't even get into the hairballs I swept from every corner. At the rate she's been shedding her winter coat, we have enough hair to cover some poor, hairless cat somewhere.
So I issued the edict that from now on, the cat would remain outdoors except in inclement weather. Only I didn't bother to check the weather forecast before going to bed last night.
I was awakened suddenly at six o'clock this morning by a loud clap of thunder, followed by a flash of lightening which lit the bedroom. My very first thought upon waking? "And I call myself a mother!". I could hear the torrential downpour of rain outside the window. I mean, really hard rain. I could imagine poor Putty outside getting drenched. Her little paws soundlessly scratching at the back glass door. In dry weather, those claws against that glass are akin to nails on a chalkboard, but when it's raining, she could be doing that for an hour, and no one would hear her as her wet paws slide against the glass.
I hopped up and without even taking time to do my morning 'business', I ran for the front door. Since it has a small covered porch, I figured....hoped she'd be there waiting. I knew the look she'd have on her face as she sashayed in the door, too, water spraying me with each determined flick of her wet tail. Only she wasn't on the front porch. I ran for the back door, the one where she can send shivers up my spine on a sunny day. No Putty. I flipped on the outside lights, hoping it would signal her that her humans were up and about, and that she'd come running through the torrential downpoor to the door. By that point, she'd about have to swim. I've heard it said that cats don't swim, though that may be an old wive's tail.
She never did show up at either door. I can just hope she's safely tucked away in someone's open garage. No doubt she'll be home soon. I sure hope there's some canned tuna in the pantry. Guilt tuna.
She's home, and she's mad.
For the earth which drinks in the rain that often comes upon it, and bears herbs useful for those by whom it is cultivated, receives blessing from God.