Someday I am going to regret being such a raging bitch to my dad. I just wish I could channel that sad soul that will be me someday when I’m missing my dad because these days when the doorbell rings at 9:20 on a Sunday evening, I just want to punch something. It pisses me off SO MUCH when he shows up on a school/work night knowing we all have to get up early the next morning.
I am aware that I’d written about this so many times.
I’m sorry.
I just get so frustrated with him. It often feels like he’s daring me to say anything, daring me to try and maintain my boundaries.
He’s been retired for almost twenty years. It’s as if he’s forgotten what it feels like to have to get up at 5:30 in the morning..
Or, you know, he just doesn’t care.
He wants what he wants when he wants it and he usually wants to talk at me (yes, ‘at’ not to, it’s not a conversation, it’s a monologue and I’m the only audience) for a few minutes, ask me for some Excedrin (which is a precious commodity these days since it’s been pulled from the shelves, yikes!) and then he wants to weigh himself on the scale we keep in our half-bath.
I should buy him some damned aspirin, give him a digital bathroom scale and see how often she shows up.
Sigh.
I’m going to miss him. I know I am. But I just wish he’d make these visits easier by showing up at a decent time on either Friday or Saturday evenings.
Why after 9pm on a Sunday?
Why do the visits always coincide with bad weather? It’s as if he refuses to abide by social niceties or listen to weather advisories. He’s going to drive where he wants when he wants and the elements can go suck it. So what if he ends up with a flat tire or in a ditch? Someone will help him out and it won’t even bother him that he’s inconveniencing that person through his own selfishness.
Wanna guess where I inherited my own selfishness?
One guess…
I apologize to anyone out there who has lost a parent and who would give anything at all for a late night visit from that parent. I really do. I know how lucky I am to have both my mom and my dad. I just wish…I wish he’d make it easier to enjoy his visits.
That’s all.
And proof that I'm a jerk...the day I wrote this, my dad went into the hospital. My sister sent him by ambulance because his heart rate went up to 200 and he kept falling...I am sorry for complaining about his late night visits. Truly.
A mom, a dad and two daughters. We're living ordinary lives with a twist of 5p- (Cri du Chat) for spice. But we're about so much more than our younger daughter's genetic diagnosis.
Showing posts with label Daughter of the Year. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Daughter of the Year. Show all posts
Thursday, February 13, 2020
Friday, January 31, 2020
And Then He Came Back
My dad is notorious for showing up at our house on either a Friday or a Saturday night at around 9pm.
Granted, this is better than him coming over at that time on a Tuesday. I can’t say I’d be able to be civil if he did that. Ahem.
**Tangent because I can’t help it: There is this radio host in our area (She co-hosts a morning show on a Fort Wayne radio station.) who, instead of saying ‘granted’ in the context that I used above, says “Granite.” As in the stone that is often used for countertops. Not as in, “I grant you this caveat.” Which is why GRANTED is the correct word in this situation. No, Nichole uses GRANITE, as in, I wish my house had come with granite countertops. But instead, she’ll say something like, “Granite, it’s better that he comes on a Friday or Saturday than a Tuesday.” Which, I think we can all agree, is WRONG. To be fair to this stupid radio ‘talent’ her male co-host is equally moronic. He almost always uses ‘I’ instead of ‘me’ even when ‘ME’ is grammatically correct, which irritates me to no end, as shown in more than one post right here on this very blog. I think he’d even been known to use the ever-dreaded possessive I as in, “It’s my wife and I’s anniversary.” *shudder* Like I said, Andy’s a moron too. Why yes, I do 'hate listen' to them. It amuses me even as it infuriates me. I'm a tangled web of contradictions. End Tangent.**
So yes, one recent Saturday, my dad pulled into my driveway at 9:05. He came to the door as I bitched and moaned to an amused Olivia about the rudeness of the whole situation.
He rang the doorbell twice (because once isn’t enough, obviously) and when I answered the door, trying not to be as grumpy as I felt, he asked me if I’d call my sister and ask her if his phone was at her house.
I did.
It was.
After I’d made the call, he made an off-hand comment that A receiving a call from me that late in the evening might make her think Dad had had car trouble. Ha. Hahaha, funny joke, that. (Dear Reader: this is called fore-shadowing.)
He only stayed a few more minutes because I think he really wanted to get back and get his phone. Who knows if he planned to drive off again once he had his phone. He’s a nocturnal dude. He likes to drive at night. I know. I think it’s weird too.
So he left, saying something about going to his niece’s (okay, she’s the widow of one of his nephews but still…) house before he went home and how he’d call her if he had his phone blah blah blah.
The girls and I settled back into watching “Making a Model with Yolanda Hadid.” What?
At 10:15, about an hour after my dad left, I saw lights in the driveway. I said aloud, “Who’s here?”
Alyssa and I twitched at the curtains, trying to figure out who was in the driveway. It was a truck that parked right at the end.
We made sure all the doors were locked and continued to lurk at the windows. We’re weird like that.
We have motion activated outside lights. As my dad walked up the front porch steps, his face was illuminated.
I was opening the front door before he could ring the doorbell. The truck that had dropped him off was already backing out of the driveway.
Walking in the door, my dad announced morosely, “I had a flat tire.”
Tom asked if he needed help changing the tire.
My dad didn’t have a spare tire in the truck he was driving. It was parked in the parking lot of the fast food restaurant where Alyssa works. He’d gotten a ride from a tow truck driver at the service station attached to the restaurant.
He used my phone to call my sister, who lived about 40 miles from where I live.
He hung up and handed me my phone, telling me that my sister was going to come get him.
I told him I could take him home or he could stay the night and we could get him back to her house in the morning.
We decided that I’d take him back. It was going to be the same amount of driving no matter who was driving. Either I’d drive him there and then go home or she’d drive to my house and then take him back to hers.
I changed into real pants and kissed my husband and daughters goodbye.
My dad asked if we could stop where his truck was parked on its flat tire so he could get some things out of it to take home with him.
We did. It wasn’t like we had to go out of our way to do that but even if it had been out of the way I’d have taken him there because, damn it, I can pretend to be a kind and loving daughter just as easily as I can pretend to be a kind and loving mother.
This might be a good time to mention that it was raining…hard. And, better still, I had never been to my sister’s house. I had no idea where she lived other than it was west of Angola, near a lake.
Reminder, I live in Ohio, which is east of Angola.
So we drove toward Angola. I watched my car monitor the outside temperature. It was 33 degrees; just above freezing.
Once we were in Angola, I asked my dad where we were going.
He instructed me to head for Crooked Lake.
Once we were on 200W, I asked him where to next.
He pointed left and said, “Turn here.”
“Here?” I said, not seeing anywhere to turn. It was dark, there wasn’t a turn lane and honestly, I couldn’t even see a freaking road.
He pointed to a building with several outside lights. “There’s a road there.”
I finally saw the turn lane and figured out what road he was talking about.
I turned.
We drove some more. The rain kept falling, the temperature dropped to 32 degrees. Sigh.
My dad is TERRIBLE at giving directions. He never once gave me any sort of warning before just announcing, “Turn here.”
Where? Here? It was dark and it was raining. And I was beginning to worry that the rain was about to turn to ice (spoiler alert, it didn’t.)
I finally got him to my sister’s house. He asked me if I’d be able to find my way back.
I would.
I did.
I also waited to make sure he’d make it inside my sister’s house because, see above about being a kind and loving daughter.
When I got home, Alyssa was in bed, Tom was asleep on the couch in the family room and Olivia was waiting up for me in the living room. She was SO tired.
Alyssa told me the next day that she’d tried to get Olivia to go up to bed when she, Alyssa, did. But Liv insisted on waiting for me.
She’s got the kind, loving daughter thing down pat.
I’m pretty sure my dad was glad to be reunited with his phone.
How did we all survive before cell phones?
Granted, this is better than him coming over at that time on a Tuesday. I can’t say I’d be able to be civil if he did that. Ahem.
**Tangent because I can’t help it: There is this radio host in our area (She co-hosts a morning show on a Fort Wayne radio station.) who, instead of saying ‘granted’ in the context that I used above, says “Granite.” As in the stone that is often used for countertops. Not as in, “I grant you this caveat.” Which is why GRANTED is the correct word in this situation. No, Nichole uses GRANITE, as in, I wish my house had come with granite countertops. But instead, she’ll say something like, “Granite, it’s better that he comes on a Friday or Saturday than a Tuesday.” Which, I think we can all agree, is WRONG. To be fair to this stupid radio ‘talent’ her male co-host is equally moronic. He almost always uses ‘I’ instead of ‘me’ even when ‘ME’ is grammatically correct, which irritates me to no end, as shown in more than one post right here on this very blog. I think he’d even been known to use the ever-dreaded possessive I as in, “It’s my wife and I’s anniversary.” *shudder* Like I said, Andy’s a moron too. Why yes, I do 'hate listen' to them. It amuses me even as it infuriates me. I'm a tangled web of contradictions. End Tangent.**
So yes, one recent Saturday, my dad pulled into my driveway at 9:05. He came to the door as I bitched and moaned to an amused Olivia about the rudeness of the whole situation.
He rang the doorbell twice (because once isn’t enough, obviously) and when I answered the door, trying not to be as grumpy as I felt, he asked me if I’d call my sister and ask her if his phone was at her house.
I did.
It was.
After I’d made the call, he made an off-hand comment that A receiving a call from me that late in the evening might make her think Dad had had car trouble. Ha. Hahaha, funny joke, that. (Dear Reader: this is called fore-shadowing.)
He only stayed a few more minutes because I think he really wanted to get back and get his phone. Who knows if he planned to drive off again once he had his phone. He’s a nocturnal dude. He likes to drive at night. I know. I think it’s weird too.
So he left, saying something about going to his niece’s (okay, she’s the widow of one of his nephews but still…) house before he went home and how he’d call her if he had his phone blah blah blah.
The girls and I settled back into watching “Making a Model with Yolanda Hadid.” What?
At 10:15, about an hour after my dad left, I saw lights in the driveway. I said aloud, “Who’s here?”
Alyssa and I twitched at the curtains, trying to figure out who was in the driveway. It was a truck that parked right at the end.
We made sure all the doors were locked and continued to lurk at the windows. We’re weird like that.
We have motion activated outside lights. As my dad walked up the front porch steps, his face was illuminated.
I was opening the front door before he could ring the doorbell. The truck that had dropped him off was already backing out of the driveway.
Walking in the door, my dad announced morosely, “I had a flat tire.”
Tom asked if he needed help changing the tire.
My dad didn’t have a spare tire in the truck he was driving. It was parked in the parking lot of the fast food restaurant where Alyssa works. He’d gotten a ride from a tow truck driver at the service station attached to the restaurant.
He used my phone to call my sister, who lived about 40 miles from where I live.
He hung up and handed me my phone, telling me that my sister was going to come get him.
I told him I could take him home or he could stay the night and we could get him back to her house in the morning.
We decided that I’d take him back. It was going to be the same amount of driving no matter who was driving. Either I’d drive him there and then go home or she’d drive to my house and then take him back to hers.
I changed into real pants and kissed my husband and daughters goodbye.
My dad asked if we could stop where his truck was parked on its flat tire so he could get some things out of it to take home with him.
We did. It wasn’t like we had to go out of our way to do that but even if it had been out of the way I’d have taken him there because, damn it, I can pretend to be a kind and loving daughter just as easily as I can pretend to be a kind and loving mother.
This might be a good time to mention that it was raining…hard. And, better still, I had never been to my sister’s house. I had no idea where she lived other than it was west of Angola, near a lake.
Reminder, I live in Ohio, which is east of Angola.
So we drove toward Angola. I watched my car monitor the outside temperature. It was 33 degrees; just above freezing.
Once we were in Angola, I asked my dad where we were going.
He instructed me to head for Crooked Lake.
Once we were on 200W, I asked him where to next.
He pointed left and said, “Turn here.”
“Here?” I said, not seeing anywhere to turn. It was dark, there wasn’t a turn lane and honestly, I couldn’t even see a freaking road.
He pointed to a building with several outside lights. “There’s a road there.”
I finally saw the turn lane and figured out what road he was talking about.
I turned.
We drove some more. The rain kept falling, the temperature dropped to 32 degrees. Sigh.
My dad is TERRIBLE at giving directions. He never once gave me any sort of warning before just announcing, “Turn here.”
Where? Here? It was dark and it was raining. And I was beginning to worry that the rain was about to turn to ice (spoiler alert, it didn’t.)
I finally got him to my sister’s house. He asked me if I’d be able to find my way back.
I would.
I did.
I also waited to make sure he’d make it inside my sister’s house because, see above about being a kind and loving daughter.
When I got home, Alyssa was in bed, Tom was asleep on the couch in the family room and Olivia was waiting up for me in the living room. She was SO tired.
Alyssa told me the next day that she’d tried to get Olivia to go up to bed when she, Alyssa, did. But Liv insisted on waiting for me.
She’s got the kind, loving daughter thing down pat.
I’m pretty sure my dad was glad to be reunited with his phone.
How did we all survive before cell phones?
Tuesday, November 26, 2019
On Being Present
Recently my dad had to be hospitalized due to gallstones. He doesn’t have a gallbladder but he developed gallstones. Weird? Yes, but I googled and we all know that you can trust everything you find during a Google search and there it was.
Anyway.
He went to Urgent Care on a Tuesday because he’d lost part of his hearing aid in his ear and couldn’t retrieve it. The doctor there gave him one look and told him he needed to go to the emergency room.
He was yellow, an obvious indication that his liver wasn’t working well.
The small hospital in our hometown determined that he had gallstones and sent him to the larger hospital in Fort Wayne.
I talked to him the evening before he was transferred to Fort Wayne. He sounded okay but tired.
The next morning, I went to work, texted my brother and sister and called my dad. He told me the doctor said he needed surgery. They were going to try and get him in that morning.
The ladies with whom I worked told me that if I needed to leave, I was free to do so.
I called my dad again and asked him if he wanted someone to be there for his consults and when he got out of his surgery.
He replied, “That’s not necessary.”
I told him, “I know it’s not necessary but is it something that would give you comfort? I know when I had my surgeries, it was nice to know that someone I loved and who loved me was waiting for me to wake up.”
He agreed that it would be lovely to have someone there.
I went.
It was by far the right thing to do.
My dad is fine. He came through his surgery without any issues. They inserted a stent into his bile duct so he could pass the stones they hadn’t been able to remove. They were able to remove one stone but had to leave several because they simply couldn’t retrieve them.
I texted my brother and sister from my car before I left for the hospital to let them know I was going. My brother expressed frustration that he has no vacation days left so he couldn’t leave work to go.
My sister, well, she was having some trees cut down that day and she had to go to court (I didn’t ask) and so wasn’t able to go to the hospital herself. She did go and pick my dad up the next day when he was released so I was able to stay at work.
When I got to the hospital, my dad was already in surgery. He was brought back from recovery about two hours after I got there. He was groggy and cold but otherwise doing well.
I think he enjoyed our one-on-one time that afternoon. I stayed with him for several hours, listening to his stories and just keeping him company.
We both needed that.
Being there, just being a physical presence for someone, takes so little of us and sometimes, it feels like so much. I know that I could have stayed at work that day and stayed in touch by phone with my dad’s nurse but actually going to the hospital and being nearby when he woke up, that was precious.
My dad is a month away from turning 80 years old.
I’m so lucky, so grateful that he’s still here, still doing so well, so present in my life.
Anyway.
He went to Urgent Care on a Tuesday because he’d lost part of his hearing aid in his ear and couldn’t retrieve it. The doctor there gave him one look and told him he needed to go to the emergency room.
He was yellow, an obvious indication that his liver wasn’t working well.
The small hospital in our hometown determined that he had gallstones and sent him to the larger hospital in Fort Wayne.
I talked to him the evening before he was transferred to Fort Wayne. He sounded okay but tired.
The next morning, I went to work, texted my brother and sister and called my dad. He told me the doctor said he needed surgery. They were going to try and get him in that morning.
The ladies with whom I worked told me that if I needed to leave, I was free to do so.
I called my dad again and asked him if he wanted someone to be there for his consults and when he got out of his surgery.
He replied, “That’s not necessary.”
I told him, “I know it’s not necessary but is it something that would give you comfort? I know when I had my surgeries, it was nice to know that someone I loved and who loved me was waiting for me to wake up.”
He agreed that it would be lovely to have someone there.
I went.
It was by far the right thing to do.
My dad is fine. He came through his surgery without any issues. They inserted a stent into his bile duct so he could pass the stones they hadn’t been able to remove. They were able to remove one stone but had to leave several because they simply couldn’t retrieve them.
I texted my brother and sister from my car before I left for the hospital to let them know I was going. My brother expressed frustration that he has no vacation days left so he couldn’t leave work to go.
My sister, well, she was having some trees cut down that day and she had to go to court (I didn’t ask) and so wasn’t able to go to the hospital herself. She did go and pick my dad up the next day when he was released so I was able to stay at work.
When I got to the hospital, my dad was already in surgery. He was brought back from recovery about two hours after I got there. He was groggy and cold but otherwise doing well.
I think he enjoyed our one-on-one time that afternoon. I stayed with him for several hours, listening to his stories and just keeping him company.
We both needed that.
Being there, just being a physical presence for someone, takes so little of us and sometimes, it feels like so much. I know that I could have stayed at work that day and stayed in touch by phone with my dad’s nurse but actually going to the hospital and being nearby when he woke up, that was precious.
My dad is a month away from turning 80 years old.
I’m so lucky, so grateful that he’s still here, still doing so well, so present in my life.
Friday, November 1, 2019
Cheezit
So my mom’s cat went missing. He’s this big, beastly orange creature with a loud cry and a coarse fur. I kind of can’t stand him.
But my mom and step-dad adore this monster. So when he went missing on a Monday, they were understandably upset. My mom went so far as to drive the around the country block to see if she could see him in the ditch or along the side of the road. She just wanted to know.
I didn’t find out that he was missing until the Thursday after he’d been gone since Monday.
The girls and I had visited my mom that Monday. When we got there, my step-dad’s brother and nephew were also visiting. My step-dad (have I ever given him a blog name? No? Yes? I feel like I did and that I called him Lloyd. So yes, let’s go with that.) Lloyd and his nephew J were out on the deck shooting a gun. Yes, surely you can hear my eyes rolling over that one.
But whatever. They were doing that. Cheezit the cat had greeted us when we arrived, as he does. He loves guests and always lays on the cement, rolling around showing his tummy and begging for scritches and scratches.
I ignore him and Olivia screeches when he comes near but Alyssa always stops and pets the creep.
He didn’t come running to see us off that evening when we left but since Lloyd and J were shooting the gun, maybe Cheezit had gone into hiding.
When the girls and I got home, we heard a cat crying from inside the garage but Tom insisted that it was Leo, who happened to be on the front porch. We accepted his explanation and went about our evening. Now? I’m not so sure the crying was Leo.
Liv and I visited my mom and Lloyd on Thursday afternoon. Lyss was at work.
It was then that my mom told me that Cheezit had been missing since Monday. They’d called Lloyd’s brother and the nephew J to see if maybe Cheezit had climbed into the back of J’s truck and hitched a ride to his farm.
No. He hadn’t been seen.
My mom worried that the cat HAD gotten into the truck but then jumped out along the way and hadn’t been able to find his way home. The night he’d gone missing the weather had been awful. Rain and wind had swept in, which could have disoriented him.
I got home that night and told Tom about this missing kitty. He said something about having seen another cat around our house, thinking it might be Harvey (who’s been gone for about two months now) but that this phantom cat was darker than Harv. And it definitely wasn’t Leo, who is bigger than Harv but a much lighter orange than Cheezit.
Friday morning as I was heading off to work, Tom opened the garage door and said, “That’s your moms’ cat!”
What?!?
When he’d opened the door, Leo waltzed into the garage like he owned the place (I mean, he kind of does) and the other cat, the one that turned out to be Cheezit, had run. But he hadn’t run far. He’d gone to the front porched and laid himself out on the bottom step, like it was some sort of boudoir.
I called his name and he just looked at me. I picked him up. He’s enormous, it was definitely Cheezit.
I told Tom I was going to take him home. Going past my mom’s on my way to work is only about a mile out of my way.
That cat cried the entire drive to my mom’s house. It’s only four miles but it felt like forty with that animal wailing all the way there.
He also prowled the car, moving from the front seat to the dash, where he tried to sit IN FRONT OF MY FACE. I told him he had to move so I could, you know, SEE TO DRIVE.
He finally went to the back of the car where he continued to scream.
I talked to him the entire drive, telling him what a good kitty he is (he’s not) and how glad his mom and dad were going to be to see him. I told him he was going home and that it would be okay.
When we pulled into the driveway, he looked out the window and almost lost his mind. I know animals don’t think the way humans do but I swear that cat KNEW he was home.
I managed to get him out of the car and into my arms. The TV was on so I knew someone was awake.
I took Cheezit into the sunroom and knocked on the kitchen door.
Lloyd came to the door and saw that I was holding his cat.
When he opened the door, I said, “He was on our front porch this morning. He must have gotten into my car on Monday and we just never saw him.”
Which, you know what? That makes no sense. The way that cat reacted to the drive back to my mom’s, if he’d been inside my car, we’d have known it and Olivia would have lost her own mind dealing with a yowling cat in the backseat with her.
What I think might have happened is that he found a spot under the car, like somewhere under the hood and managed to not get mangled by the engine.
I don’t know.
What I do know is that Lloyd was near tears with relief to have that monster back in his arms. He was holding and petting Cheezit when I left, murmuring about how glad it was to have him home.
It was nice to see a man and his cat reunited. I felt like I’d done my good deed for the month.
But my mom and step-dad adore this monster. So when he went missing on a Monday, they were understandably upset. My mom went so far as to drive the around the country block to see if she could see him in the ditch or along the side of the road. She just wanted to know.
I didn’t find out that he was missing until the Thursday after he’d been gone since Monday.
The girls and I had visited my mom that Monday. When we got there, my step-dad’s brother and nephew were also visiting. My step-dad (have I ever given him a blog name? No? Yes? I feel like I did and that I called him Lloyd. So yes, let’s go with that.) Lloyd and his nephew J were out on the deck shooting a gun. Yes, surely you can hear my eyes rolling over that one.
But whatever. They were doing that. Cheezit the cat had greeted us when we arrived, as he does. He loves guests and always lays on the cement, rolling around showing his tummy and begging for scritches and scratches.
I ignore him and Olivia screeches when he comes near but Alyssa always stops and pets the creep.
He didn’t come running to see us off that evening when we left but since Lloyd and J were shooting the gun, maybe Cheezit had gone into hiding.
When the girls and I got home, we heard a cat crying from inside the garage but Tom insisted that it was Leo, who happened to be on the front porch. We accepted his explanation and went about our evening. Now? I’m not so sure the crying was Leo.
Liv and I visited my mom and Lloyd on Thursday afternoon. Lyss was at work.
It was then that my mom told me that Cheezit had been missing since Monday. They’d called Lloyd’s brother and the nephew J to see if maybe Cheezit had climbed into the back of J’s truck and hitched a ride to his farm.
No. He hadn’t been seen.
My mom worried that the cat HAD gotten into the truck but then jumped out along the way and hadn’t been able to find his way home. The night he’d gone missing the weather had been awful. Rain and wind had swept in, which could have disoriented him.
I got home that night and told Tom about this missing kitty. He said something about having seen another cat around our house, thinking it might be Harvey (who’s been gone for about two months now) but that this phantom cat was darker than Harv. And it definitely wasn’t Leo, who is bigger than Harv but a much lighter orange than Cheezit.
Friday morning as I was heading off to work, Tom opened the garage door and said, “That’s your moms’ cat!”
What?!?
When he’d opened the door, Leo waltzed into the garage like he owned the place (I mean, he kind of does) and the other cat, the one that turned out to be Cheezit, had run. But he hadn’t run far. He’d gone to the front porched and laid himself out on the bottom step, like it was some sort of boudoir.
I called his name and he just looked at me. I picked him up. He’s enormous, it was definitely Cheezit.
I told Tom I was going to take him home. Going past my mom’s on my way to work is only about a mile out of my way.
That cat cried the entire drive to my mom’s house. It’s only four miles but it felt like forty with that animal wailing all the way there.
He also prowled the car, moving from the front seat to the dash, where he tried to sit IN FRONT OF MY FACE. I told him he had to move so I could, you know, SEE TO DRIVE.
He finally went to the back of the car where he continued to scream.
I talked to him the entire drive, telling him what a good kitty he is (he’s not) and how glad his mom and dad were going to be to see him. I told him he was going home and that it would be okay.
When we pulled into the driveway, he looked out the window and almost lost his mind. I know animals don’t think the way humans do but I swear that cat KNEW he was home.
I managed to get him out of the car and into my arms. The TV was on so I knew someone was awake.
I took Cheezit into the sunroom and knocked on the kitchen door.
Lloyd came to the door and saw that I was holding his cat.
When he opened the door, I said, “He was on our front porch this morning. He must have gotten into my car on Monday and we just never saw him.”
Which, you know what? That makes no sense. The way that cat reacted to the drive back to my mom’s, if he’d been inside my car, we’d have known it and Olivia would have lost her own mind dealing with a yowling cat in the backseat with her.
What I think might have happened is that he found a spot under the car, like somewhere under the hood and managed to not get mangled by the engine.
I don’t know.
What I do know is that Lloyd was near tears with relief to have that monster back in his arms. He was holding and petting Cheezit when I left, murmuring about how glad it was to have him home.
It was nice to see a man and his cat reunited. I felt like I’d done my good deed for the month.
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