That darn cat…

I miss you.

I hope you are safe and happy.

I hope they have toys to play with. I hope they have doggies to annoy, be the boss of, and to steal their beds from. I hope they keep the toilet flushed.

I hope they have lots of windows to sit in. I hope they have warm porches to sun on. I hope they have low air vents in the winter and wide topped TV’s in the summer. I hope they forget to close the door to the linen cupboard.

I hope they appreciate how beautiful you are. I hope they enjoy how much you love to talk. I hope they have nice soft hips for you to sleep on. I hope they love you.

I hope you miss me, too.

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The upstairs duplex next door lady came again yesterday to get some more stuff. She had another lady with her (maybe her mom) and neither had seen Sophie. She said she had taken her two cats home with her Thursday morning. So I’m thinking maybe she didn’t take her, but I know somebody did.

Someone has taken my Sophie Cat.

I’m thinking they can’t live too nearby or Sophie would have come home by now. They would not be able to withstand her demand to go OUTSIDE. Sophie’s life began as a stray and she must go outside everyday or she acts like she will surely DIE.

In the cold or wet she comes back in immediately—if she even bothers to step out the open door. In these conditions she’s pretty content to just sit in the open door a few minutes. In warm and dry weather she goes outside several times a day and she always comes back. She is just as insistent about being let inside as she is about going out. If we don’t hear her trying to dig and whine her way in the door the whippets will.

It’s always very exciting for her to come back in. She spends a good five minutes (every time) telling me all about who, what, where and she did while she was out. Or a least that’s the way I always interpreted her. She’s a big talker, that Sophie.

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We got Sophie from Miss B. not quite 2 years ago. This would make Sophie about 4 years old. She’d already been de-clawed (front paws) and spayed. Oh joy, what a $avings that was for us.

Miss B. called Sophie “Goldie” and sometimes “Squeakie” because Sophie is very vocal, but the sounds she makes are not your normal “meow” variety. She does meow, it just doesn’t sound like those Meow Mix cats at all. It’s more like “ouwww” and sometimes even “my’all!”

The little cat was a stray in the neighborhood and Miss B. took her in. She already had Thomas Jefferson and Annabelle, so what the hell difference could one more cat make? Ach!

Sophie made quite a difference. She liked to go outside, which would have been okay as Thom goes out, too. Thom was happy to just prowl about his side of the block, but Sophie liked to go across the street to her old block. Miss B. lives on an unusually wide street just like ours. Cars can actually park on both sides of the street and it is still roomy enough to allow other cars to drive in opposite directions without hindrance. Our street is relatively traffic free as it begins and ends in the middle of two other blocks that are lined by two busy thoroughfares. Miss B.’s street is a busy thoroughfare. She worried about Sophie getting hit by a car and at that time we still lived the dee-lux-apartment-in-the-skyyy.

And now Sophie lives with us.

Emma is very fond of Sophie. Sometimes they nap together on Emma’s bed. Sophie can go right up and eat out of Emma’s food bowl—while Emma is eating!. Sophie belongs to Emma, too. Emma will TOTALLY WHIP GRACIE’S ASS for trying to play with Sophie.

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