Reason Number 263 Why I Should Have Cat for Dinner

Today is the last day of floor refinishing. After I had lunch I decided I would head out for a bit since (a) I needed to pee desperately and couldn't walk across the floor and (b) since the guys were starting the final polyurethane coat the family room was starting to smell funny. So, I gather up my things and glance around to confirm the whereabouts of Miss Kitty. No Miss Kitty. Not on the cat tree, not hiding under the beige sofa in the nook, not under either coffee table, not under the ottoman. No Miss Kitty up in the basket above the television, not on the ledge in the nook (which required me to climb up on the sofa to determine...), not under the sectional (not like there was any way she could squeeze under there anyway... No Miss Kitty under the other sofa, not hiding in between any of the boxes of books currently lining the nook, not behind the nook sofa not on the windowsill of the little nook window. This of course, brought on by pregnancy emotions and the fumes starting to cloud my thinking, creates sheer panic. The last time I remember seeing Miss Kitty was while I was eating lunch. At lunchtime I had heard a mysterious loud noise akin to something hitting the roof of the family room. This had caused me to go out into the garage, open the garage door and look outside. I had distinctly remembered that I went into the garage but quickly came back into the family room to cover up part of my lunch (as Miss K is a fan of anything sour cream based and I had been having some chips and dip...). With the knowledge that I had come and gone out the garage door I was now convinced she had escaped. Now I'm searching the garage, which of course, is full of furniture. I've got a flashlight, I'm kneeling down trying to look under our other sofas, chairs, etc., etc. No luck. I'm climbing over our bicycles, on top of rolled up rugs. I'm calling out "Kitty dinner! Kitty dinner!" I'm throwing cat toys around as an inticement, I'm making that cluck-cluck noise, I'm calling for Kitty. No response.

I go outside. Now fearing that it had been at least an hour since I had opened the garage door, I'm thinking she's got to be long gone. Run free, free as the wind. I employ the hard wood floor guys in my search. They've walked around the perimeter of the outside of the house. No Miss Kitty.

Now, I hope you recall that one of my reasons for deciding to leave the house was that I had to pee. Now I still have to pee, have been bending down much more than I should be at 8 months pregnant, in order to look under furniture and am generally getting completely freaked out.

I call the Husband.

Sensible as always the Husband stays calm. He figures if she really isn't in the family room then she probably has just gotten into the garage and not actually run out of the garage and that we'll be able to find her, eventually under the furniture.

The Husband suggests that I go back inside and he walk me through one last search of the family room. It's like clock work, I go all around the room, checking once again under every piece of furniture (as hiding beneath skirted sofas is her usual MO). Nothing.

Then, the Husband asks, could she be under the pillows on the couch? (You see, since being displaced from the bulk of our home, all of our bed linens have been residing on one of our family room couches, together with our overcoats-- why this combination, I'm not sure.)

These are the pillows on the couch. I say to him, "should I move all the pillows?" And he says, not if I don't think she could be in there. So, ever doubtful, I stick my hand into the middle of the mass of pillows.

What do I feel?

FURRY PAW.

Now you can see that pile of crap right? Why on earth and how on earth did she manage to bury herself in there???

Cats.