02 3 / 2014
18 2 / 2014
I thought I lost Watson today.
I’m housesitting for my parents, and they have a cleaning crew that comes in on Tuesdays. The drill is to leave the front door unlocked for them. They are cool people. This is usually no big deal at all.
But I had to leave for an observation this morning, and when I got back, they were gone and had left the front door WIDE OPEN. Seeing as I had been gone two hours, it could have been open for a pretty long time.
I located my parent’s cat ASAP but Watson was nowhere to be found. And this guy loooves checking out the outside world. He’s recently taken to trotting out the front door as I walk in. So, it was difficult for me not to panic at this point.
I checked under every bed and every couch. I raided every closet, even the one in my bedroom, even though it had been closed when I left. My closet door was barely open, so I figured there was a chance he’d be in there—but when I looked in, he wasn’t sitting on anything, or curled up in any shelves, or lurking behind clothes on hangers. Meanwhile, I’m calling his name a million times. I’m noisily putting food out which he ALWAYS responds to. My heart is breaking.
I take to the neighborhood, do the walk-and-call, and wind up asking the neighbors for help. Thank holy goodness there are such chill people in my neighborhood. Two of them were about to leave for a bike ride, so they turned it into a search-and-rescue. I was trying not to cry but failing.
Then, I make one last sweep of the house…. only to find Watson, that poor little dirtbag, TRAPPED under stuff in my closet. I don’t know how the whole thing played out, but here’s my guess:
- Cleaning crew shows up, Watson wigs out.
- He runs into my closet through the sliver of the door, too freaked to open it properly.
- Seeking shelter, he accidentally knocks over some clothes and a box, getting stuck under there.
- Cleaning crew comes into my room and scares him to death.
- Cleaning crew closes the bedroom door on their way out.
- By the time I get home, Watson’s too scared to come out or make noise, so he just sits there like a sad traumatized ghoul and makes me nauseous with fear.
It’s been hours and he’s still puffed up and refusing to talk. I still feel pretty gross too. NOT a fun day.
18 2 / 2014
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