Stacey Hatton: Elusive as a cat’s meow

Never before have I prayed so hard in my backyard for those Alfred Hitchcock ravens that ravage nests of bunnies and anything else deemed cute and fluffy around your home.

I need some bird squawks now, please!!

Sounding like the holidays may have pushed me over the edge? I was verging on hospitalization with the thought of another one of my kids’ favorite cats dying.

It started New Year’s Day. We enjoy having drama to start off the year, and proudly we succeeded. I had slept in an extra few hours while my husband was patrolling briskly around the house with a headlamp and flashlight.

Since I hadn’t had any coffee yet, this confused me; but I didn’t address his hardware since it looked too confusing.

He whispers to me, “Cali is gone.”

Now in every household there is a person who can find things and there is the other kind who can’t find the glasses on their face. From previous experiences with my family, I am the only one who can find my items, plus everyone else’s items. It’s a gift and a curse.

This disability of theirs is what often wears me out and finds me sighing heavily in the laundry room.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’m sure she is hiding. I’ll find her.”

Now, the chances of me locating her were high. One, because the cat likes only me and will come to my voice. She is a calico and they are skittish and don’t like big crowds. The other reason was previously mentioned.

So for the next hour, I looked in all of her favorite spots, softly calling her name. When the panic that she wasn’t in the house surfaced, I dragged the children away from their cartoons and announced that every cabinet and closet door needed to be opened in our house.

We hadn’t mentioned the problem to our overly empathetic and dramatic daughters for fear they would burst into hysterics and then I wouldn’t be able to hear the cat calling out for help. But it was time to step up our investigation.

Then came the news from my daughter that the door from the house to garage was open first thing that morning.

“Who was playing in the car?” I shrieked. “You shouldn’t do that, especially when your father and I are sleeping!”

“It wasn’t us,” my daughters convincingly defended.

Great. Now our search area had dramatically increased. After looking under and in both cars, and listening carefully for her sweet meow, I gave up on the garage and proceeded outside.

Circling the perimeter, looking up trees, on the roof and under anything that was still I began to feel nauseous. Then I put on my great outdoor detective hat:

Blue Jays and Ravens are annoying birds of our area. But they dislike cats and will squawk loudly at them.

Squawk…

Just one annoying burst of noise? Cali can’t be back here. They’d be cackling and swooping like a Hitchcock movie.

Finally, after thinking of how I was going to let my kids down gracefully, my husband yelled out to me that he found the cat.

In the garage, buried deep in the back recesses, were all of his gardening tools.

“She’s in there,” my husband said.

“I already checked back there and she didn’t make a sound,” I protested. How could I have missed her?

But there she was, trapped under four 6-inch steel blades, each resembling a Chinese Throwing Star. Why would we have such a contraption in the garage? This cat trapper is referred to any gardener as a tiller. Yes, the blades are sharp enough to cut through tree roots, Kansas clay, but thank goodness not my cat’s large noggin.

We managed to move around the mess and get to the tiller so it could be lifted off of her. She was stuck like Pooh Bear’s head in a honey jar — except with metal teeth and dried clay pinching her head.

After we calmed down and made sure our pet wasn’t hurt, the hubby and I reflected on our New Year’s adventure.

“I looked in the weirdest places for her,” I said.

“I even looked inside the Jacuzzi,” admitted my husband.

“So did I,” I said. “Why is that strange?”

“I actually took off the main side cover to look under it.”

“Seriously. Has that board ever been taken off?” I laughed.

“It was on there pretty tight.”

I managed self-restraint not mentioning the cat didn’t have opposable thumbs or the knowledge to work a crowbar. Wanted to keep the marriage happy for 2015.

But I can honestly say, I’m looking forward to fewer thrills of this caliber throughout the remainder of the year.

This story was originally published January 31, 2015 at 6:18 PM with the headline "Stacey Hatton: Elusive as a cat’s meow."