Along the way you might have heard mention of Smudge, the daughter of Sooty and the resident feral female Smokey (Naming conventions are purely based on color, which may be racist, but Sooty was black and Smokey is grey.) Daughter Smudge is grey. Except for the smudge. Under her chin. On her chest. Like this:
Her mama kept her away from us and it wasn't until Smudge became with child that she started claiming the cathouse we made on the back porch as her own. In the fullness of time she presented us with two kittens, both male. And because Mrs. NoC is a softie mama Smudge and her two boys soon were living in the house house instead of the cathouse. Except when they wanted to go hunting. Or use real dirt instead of ground clay for their latrine duties. Then they insisted on going out. And shredding the screendoor in the process. Do they make catclawproof door screen?
The day came when we scooped mama Smudge and her two boys into carriers and transported them to a magical place that reworked mama's internal structure to insure that her two boys would be her only heirs, while simultaneously converting the boys into congressional republicans.
So they now are indoor/outdoor cats with no chance of increasing the local feline population. And they typically come to the door and want to be let inside for the night. So it was that this pattern was broken Sunday night when Smudge did not present her fur at the back door requesting entrance while uttering the secret passpurr. While unusual, it was a warm night and just maybe we thought, she decided to hole up somewhere. But she didn't show up for her yummyyummy cat food Monday morning. And she was absent all day Monday. And all night Monday night/Tuesday morning. And all day Tuesday.
Of course, after having her father murdered by three renegade dogs Mrs. NoC was frantic and I was, um, worried. So I donned my neoprene-and-velcro knee amendments, dipped my BDU's and shirt is DEET, grabbed my leather gloves and my bandana and trekked into the North forty while calling out for the Smudge. I should have also grabbed the loppers and a walking stick and my machete (hindsight is always 20-20). The territory I trekked is in between two fields that are usually planted in corn (but not yet). Once upon a time, it was cleared and was part of the cow pasture but has regrown since the last dairy herd on the property was over a quarter century ago. It has a stream winding through it, a pond that I discovered still has goldfish in it, a lot of obnoxious irritating weed with leaves-of-three, a similar quantity of nettles, wild rose and berry bushes complete with pickers, er, thorns, wet slimy moss-covered rock, mud, fallen trees, remnants of a barbed wire fence, and uneven terrain. All impediments to traversing the block of ground. In the absence of the loppers and machete, I utilized the trusty leatherglovecovered hands to break, twist, bend, remove, or otherwise clear the thorny twiggy stuff out of my path. (As an aside, about four years ago I chopped a path through this crap, er, growth with my trusty machete, but all traces of that effort are nonvisible now.) Anyway, I traveled north in the west cornfield until the big oak tree (the landmark indicating the semiclear path to the pond), headed east to the pond and then circumnavigated about 66% of the circumference of the pond, then cut southeast to the oncepasture, headed south to the culvert behind the silo, and then headed back to the house. With no response or even a mewl from the Smudge.
And I was mentally preparing myself for the never-return. Which is distressing. Even if she's only a cat.
Darkness approached, and I came inside, removed the BDU's with the urushiol coated legs, the urushiol coated boots, the smelly T-shirt, and the neoprene-and-velcro knee amendments, and took a shower to further minimize affects of any contact with the leaves-of-three.
I made a samidge and poured a beverage. And I sat down. And it grew dark.
And along about 2230 Smudge showed up.
But how can you shake the snot out of some fur as cute as her...
Even if she would deserve it for making, um, Mrs. NoC worry..