Grandma Stella’s Sunday Adventure
My grandson went away and left Pussycat with me for two weeks. I also have my pups during every weekday morning until Kelly and Andrea return from work. In summer they like to spend their time in the garden underneath the shade of the trees. They get up to greet whoever stops to talk to them over the fence. Poor Pussycat, sits by the glass front door looking out forlornly at them. He sits there for hours on end. I feel so sorry for him.
The other day Teal called. “How are you and Stripes doing, Grandma?” Stripes is Pussycat’s real name, but I do not like it. It sounds so no nonsense, like stripes on an army uniform. There is no poetry to it.
“I feel so sorry for him. He sits by the front door and looks out at the pups wistfully.”
“Why don’t you let him out? I’m sure he would love it,” he suggested.
“What if he gets lost or stolen? That’s my worry,” I replied.
“Grandma Stella, he’s been tagged. Besides, you put your old cat’s collar on him.”
“Hmm. I will think about it,” I said.
I thought about it Friday. I thought about it Saturday. This morning I left the front door slightly ajar. I stood on one side and watched. Cautiously, Pussycat first stuck his head out, then he took out one paw, then he took out the other paw. Finally, he stretched his body as far as he could and went down one step. He started examining his surroundings. At last, he went down the garden path.
He’s going to be okay, I thought to myself, as I went into the kitchen to pour myself a cup of tea. I took it to the porch, sat down and started reading my book as I sipped the tea. It was about eight o’clock. The neighborhood was still sleeping. Except for the birds in the trees, all was quiet. Every once in a while I got up to check on him, but there was no sign of him. I heard the clock strike eleven. This time I decided to step out the door and see where he was. As I did so, I heard the door click shut behind me. I did not have keys with me, but I did not feel concerned. My neighbor had my spare keys, in case of an emergency. At the same time, I heard the poor cat meowing piteously. I looked around but could not see him…
“Pussycat, where are you?” I asked anxiously. The meows became louder and more desperate. They were coming from inside the bushes. Holding onto the balustrade with one hand, I bent down and with my cane, I parted the bushes. There was poor Pussycat underneath them, cowering with fright.
Now I was in a pickle. I was not able to pick him up because I’m not too steady on my feet and am in danger of losing my balance and falling. I slowly straightened myself. I walked across the street to my neighbor’s house. I rang the doorbell. No answer. I rang it again. I banged at the door. Still no answer, yet their cars were there. They are professors and sometimes when they are deep into whatever they are engrossed in, there is nothing that can distract them. I gave up. The next two neighbors were not too friendly, so I did not even bother with them. I knocked at the next door after them. Again, there was no answer, then I remembered they never woke up before noon. By this time I was getting flustered and on the verge of tears. At the next house, there was no car parked. At last, I felt a glimmer of hope. At the house after that, there were cars parked in the driveway and in front of their house. Tears of relief trickled down my cheeks. I rang the doorbell. The door opened. More tears poured down.
“ Oh Stella, are you alright?” noticing my distress, the husband and the wife asked in unison. “Come in! Come in!” they added in unison.
“No thank you. I’m locked out of the house. The cat is stuck underneath the bushes. I need to call Kelly to come open the door. I am so sorry to bother you,” I babbled.
They pulled a chair up for me. The husband started to call Kelly. They were friends and they had each other’s cell numbers on automatic dialing. They offered me coffee. They offered me juice. They offered me water, but I just wanted to go home. Finally, in a desperate move, they brought their ten-year-old little girl and plopped her in my lap. I hugged her tightly and rocked her back and forth. That calmed me down. Shortly afterwards, Kelly came. He walked me home. He opened the door for us. He helped Pussycat out of the bushes and left. With a cry of relief, Pussycat ran into the house. With a lot of meowing, he expressed his distress as we sat on the porch.
“I know, Pussycat, I know. It’s been a tough morning,” I commiserated. Pussycat kept meowing his tale of woe. And the birds warbled in the trees, and finally, Pussycat curled up on my lap and fell asleep. As for me? I heaved a sigh of relief as I leaned back, relaxed, and felt my distress slowly melt away…