2K Sylvie’s Return
June 26, 2007
The visit to the car doctor took longer than planned and cost more money than I expected. However, overall, the news was good.
I got back to the barely extended family’s house a bit later than I planned.
Random Granddaughter was outside in the yard. My wife was outside in the yard. Sylvie was by the white picket fence looking out and looking cute.
“Hello, Grandpa,” said RG.
“Hello, RG,” I replied. “Are you and Sylvie friends again?” I asked.
“Yes!” she said. “Look!” She walked to Sylvie and petted her. She still isn’t entirely skillful at petting, but Sylvie seemed to take it in good humor.
“That’s very good,” I said.
We all decided to go inside the house. I took RG into the house.
“Where’s Sylvie?” my wife asked.
“She was right by the fence looking out,” I said.
“She’s not there now,” said my wife. She walked around the yard. She looked by her truck on the driveway outside the fence. She began walking around the house outside the fence.
“I just saw her run into the bushes around the house across the street,” she exclaimed. She was referring to a very well-landscaped house across the street to the north. I know where RG’s best friend Mia lives across the street to the east, but I didn’t know anything about this house to the north.
I took RG (who carefully looked both ways and held my hand before crossing) across the street with me to look for Sylvie. “Sylvie doesn’t understand she should stay at home,” RG told me. I agreed this was a grievous feline fault.
We looked around the house and the front yard. The house has many well-maintained bushes and trees in front and back. A little black (with a little white) cat could be well-hidden and hard to find in all the foliage. We called for Sylvie, though I don’t know if she answers to her name. (Cats generally don’t answer, period, except when they feel like complaining, making demands, or telling their owners—who are really the cats’ pets—off.)
RG was nervous about being on somebody else’s property. She decided she wanted to go home and be with Grandma instead of with crazy Grandpa who was obviously out of control again. I took her back across the street and returned her to Grandma.
“I’m going to see if anybody is home and tell them there may be a cat hiding on their property,” I said. I was a little embarrassed, but one of the things that happens when you get to be 63 years old is you worry less about making a fool of yourself than you used to. Well, I do. Your mileage may vary.
I knocked on the door. I could hear a television spouting sports, so I figured somebody was home. It took a while, but a woman about my age eventually came to the door.
I introduced myself and explained the situation. She introduced herself as Pauline.
Pauline asked me to describe the cat. She would tell my daughter if she saw it.
As we were talking, I saw a little black (with a little white) cat run across Pauline’s front yard, dash across the street, run through the picket fence, and up to the porch.
I thanked Pauline for her concern, expressed relief at the cat’s return, and returned to the house. My wife was letting Sylvie back into the house.
RG told Sylvie she should stay at home. Sylvie purred but did not look repentant.