Today, when Pocket and I went to get the mail, only to find out that
we had none (sigh) we saw a hand written note taped to the community
board. "Last Cat: If found return to Unit 20."
I thought of Boots and his adventures, and wondered if the cat had
jumped on my windowsill and copied my download codes. Then I studied
the note carefully. "Lost Cat." Could they have been any more vague?
Perhaps: "Missing Mammal" or "Misplaced Carbon Based Unit." Could
they post a picture of the kitty? Or at least a description?
Pocket doesn't scrutinize events the way I do. She just wanted to
find the kitty and reunite it with its Mom. "But Pocket, we don't
know which kitty it is!" I pleaded.
But you can't talk to a dog with a diaper on her butt, and she was
off. A few minutes later she returned with a baby chipmunk.
"That's not a cat," I said folding my paws across my chest.
"Vit vight vee," Pocket said holding the chipmunk in her mouth. The
chipmunk, meanwhile, was professing her innocence, stating that while
she may have moved the squirrels nuts, she did not lick them.
Pocket went running to the woman's door. I followed. Pocket scratched
on it until she answered. "I found your kitty," Pocket said as she
dropped it on the ground.
"That's a chipmunk," the woman said.
"Oh," Pocket said scratching her head. "Sorry, you can go," Pocket
said, nosing the chipmunk like she does the ball when she wants
someone to throw it.
The chipmunk took several steps away, stopped, and shook her butt at
Pocket. I growled at the brash rodent. Only I get to butt shake
"We'd like to help you find your kitty," I said. "Maybe you can give
us a description, or give us something to smell."
"You two aren't scent dogs," the woman said.
"You have never stood down wind from Pocket," I told her. I asked her
for a picture and she said she didn't have one. My gosh, was this cat
her pet or was she just renting her a room? I asked for a
"She's white and gray," the woman said. It was like saying she lost
an old white man in Congress. I told the woman I would keep my eyes
open. I then walked away, ready to climb on my blanket and nap
through the day.
But at three years of age I must admit Pocket has learned. She cut me
off. "You know where the kitty is," Pocket said.
"Leave it alone Pocket, we don't need to get involved," I said.
"No, it's like Boots, we need to save this kitty like Boots was saved.
And you know where the kitty went, she went over the wall."
"Listen to me Pocket, we have this place on the market, we could move
soon, and then we would never have to worry about what's on the other
side of the wall again," I said.
She turned. "I'm going. I'm going over the wall to save the kitty."
"No Pocket, no, not over the wall." But she didn't listen. She
walked towards the wall. I couldn't let her go alone. But I couldn't
go over the wall again either.
I knew what I had to do.
To be continued