I have a cat. It's a rather long story how I got this cat, when taking into consideration the fact that I'm actually not much of an animal person, my general love of not spending money, and the (relatively) small size of my home, but it's a story for another time. The story now is about my cat (General Zod, for those who don't know) and his grand adventure.
One week ago from tomorrow, Zod apparently somehow escaped from my house. (He's an indoor cat, and I have a roommate who leaves his keys in the door. You put the pieces together.) It was a miserable night for me, full of crying (over a cat, who would have ever thought it) and, finally, resignation. For a brief moment, we thought Brother Two had found him, but it turned out not to be the case. Or he had, but we didn't get him wrapped up. Either way, we didn't find him. I went to bed that night convinced that I'd never see him again.
The reason I was so down on myself was that he hadn't been wearing his tags. He was microchipped, but his collar had recently broken, and since he was an indoor cat, I didn't feel the need to replace it all that much. I was wrong. He got out, and now it was all my fault that I hadn't replace his collar, which had my number on it. I felt terrible.
The next day at work was atrocious. I was out of it, the kids didn't know why and meanwhile, two of my wonderful friends made up fliers with pictures of Zod, my number and a description that he was, in fact, microchipped, but didn't have his collar and tags. When The Teacher came to my room that afternoon after school, she convinced me to go home and put them up. I thought it was pointless (I was very destitute at this point) but finally agreed.
While I was driving home, I got a call from a vet in Tijeras where Zod was being treated after being run over by a car (but breaking no bones) and suffering extreme road rash. I was in shock! How could my cat make it so far? I don't think that I even believed it was him until we got there and I got a look at him. The vet explained that he would be in a lot of pain and that I should watch his litter box for signs of irregular urination, etc. but that he should be, essentially, good to go, as long as I kept up with his medicine they'd be sending home with him.
That first night, I slept with him in the office, trying to get him re-acclimated to the house. He didn't move around much, and I didn't cry a lot, if at all, mostly because I was still in shock. I'd made peace with the fact that he was gone, I hadn't expected to have him back at all, much less this quickly. It was amazing.
So, now Zod's pretty much back to normal, he takes swipes at me with his paws as I walk by, showing that playful aggression that led us to label him a terrorist, and bouncing around the house as though nothing's wrong. In fact, today, as I went outside, he waited by the door and when I opened it to come back in, he tried to bolt. (Hasn't he learned anything?!?) His tail's still a mess, having been shaved so they could treat the road rash and he doesn't really like his medicine, but he's looking pretty spry for having traveled 18 miles and having been hit by a car.
All's well that ends well, and I'm psyched to have my cat back. I can't believe that I've become this guy, but I really do have to say that I don't mind at all.