Cat Calls

I woke up to the sound of a cat crying.

Half asleep, I raised up and looked over the end of the bed where sitting in the light from the streetlamp was a large, orange cat looking back at me and calmly meowing. The bedside clock read 2:28. It's too early, I told him, go back to sleep. I laid back down only to become fully awake a few seconds later when I realized that we didn't have an orange cat, large or otherwise. Wake up, I nudged my husband, There's a cat in here. He mumbled something that sounded like "so what" and I nudged him again, It's not one of our's.

He rolled over and propped himself up on his elbows, looking at me warily. What? I pointed to the intruder who, now having an audience, had become more vocal. Hello, my husband told him, Go away. And he laid back down and pulled the covers over his head. The cat meowed and took a tentative step toward the bed. I sighed and pushed the bedclothes aside and the cat appeared at my ankles with a hopeful meow. This, I told him firmly, will not do.

Not only did he make no objection to being picked up, he immediately wound himself around my neck and began to purr ferociously and lick my ear. Where had he come from, I wondered, and where were all the cats that did live here? The sliding glass doors that led to the balcony were closed securely and there were no open windows that I could find. Mystified, I carried him downstairs as quietly as I could, not wanting to think about the consequences of being discovered by one of the legitimate cats. Nothing seemed amiss in the kitchen or den but in the living room I discovered the front door wide open - the room was filled with the warm night air and in the small entryway, sat all five of our cats, still as the night and intent on the world beyond the open door but none making a move toward freedom.

I froze and instinctively covered the orange cat's mouth with one hand. I knew an indiscreet meow at this critical point might send all my little ones into the night, so I slowly began to back up. When I reached the back door, I slipped out, deposited the orange cat on the patio and crept around the houses. Barefoot, wearing only a tee shirt and feeling like a thief in the night, I eased through the shrubs and wet grass and approached the front door. Then, with a blood curdling scream, I sprung and five startled cats scattered backwards like leaves in a hurricane wind.

It was at that precise moment that our insomniac next door neighbor, hidden in the shadows of his own balcony, chose to shine his flashlight on what he supposed to be first a prowler, second a banshee, and lastly the mad cat woman next door. Luckily, he had not had time to call the police.

The intruding orange cat was never seen again.