Operation Cookie Snatch

And so it was Dear Reader, that one week ago this evening my dear little Cookie took off and got lost. It was most certainly not a great start to the week because I find myself strung out at the best of times with work being what it is these days.

Earlier in the day, Cookie had been at the back door while I was in the garden. He seemed keen to go outside and when I opened the door out he came. I saw this as great progress as he hadn't been outside in two years, and at that time he was a very frightened and starving stray.

We had a nice time in the garden - he was out for all of two minutes or so - and back in we went. I thought no more of it.

Later that evening I was blogging away when the Marine yelled up that Cookie had busted loose and could I help him. The Marine had made the fatal mistake of trying to grab him by the scruff of the neck when he was hiding under our car. Needless to say, that was that. Cookie was having nothing to with us.

It was as if we were strangers. The closer we got the further away he went. So I decided to call off the rescue mission because I didn't want to drive Cookie further from our house. I went out several more times that night, looking for him to no avail. I got to bed around 1 a.m., my knees raw from having crouched down to look under so many cars.

The next morning I was out at 7 a.m. looking again. We had left pillow cases outside our front and back doors in the hopes that the scent would lure Cookie back. Of course he wasn't there. I ended up walking towards the train tracks by our house so I could see in the backyards of the houses opposite us. All the while horrible visions of Cookie's body mangled by a GO Train danced in my head.

Off to work I went. As we're a single car family at the moment, my pal Bronte - God love 'er - drove me back home at lunch so I could look again. Of course I was totally embarrassed by the white trash Stonehenge that is my driveway at the moment, but Bronte of course just went with the flow. We were walking around, I was calling Cookie, Bronte noted how nice everyone's gardens were, nada.

During that afternoon I ended up on some websites. Yeah, I know I shouldn't be doing personal surfing on work time, but this was an EMERGENCY SITCHOOWAYSHUN y'all. It ended up that I had been doing many things right, as I had been restricting my search to a limited area. Many sites recommended doing this, particularly for indoor cats.

So that evening after a hastily eaten supper, I was back out again. This time I went back to the rail tracks for a second look. As I headed a bit further in than I had last time, I heard a cough. Then I remembered the Marine mentioning that there are people who live by the tracks. So I decided that my curiousity was satisfied and that I didn't really need to confirm if I had actually heard a cough or not.

I headed back to the my street and then walked around the block. Coming round the other side of the crescent I live on, I came across a nice Portuguese lady, one of the old timers in the neighbourhood. She asked me if I'd lost a pet and I told her about Cookie. "Oi my Gud. Dat is terrible." she says and then goes into the story of how she had to put her cat down because he ended up with major kidney problems. "His stooooool. Unbelievable."

Yes. I would imagine.

Anyway, she said she'd keep a look out and I headed back home deflated.

By the time it was dark, I contemplated going to bed. But I just couldn't give up. A voice inside said "keep looking." So I grabbed the Marine's head lamp that he uses for electrical and headed out again. We'd agreed it was probably best if Cookie just heard me and my voice as the Marine had completely freaked him out in the first place. Plus I know the Marine felt really really bad. He said to me "Well, he's just here for the food anyways." and OF COURSE I know the Marine doesn't actually mean this. He's just trying to distance himself from the negativity of the whole predicament. I of course said that wasn't true and that Cookie loved us. The Marine felt that Cookie only really loved me anyway.

Men. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

So back out I went. It's at times like this you realize the value in not giving your pet a smart ass name. I contemplated what it would be like walking around my Portuguese Catholic neighbourhood yelling "Satan! Where are you Satan!" Or giving the yuppies a laugh yelling "Steeeeeeeellllllllaaaaaaaaaaa!!"

But I suppose my calling paid off, for when I shone the light under a porch that Bronte and I had looked under at lunch, there was Cookie. I think he had been hiding in a corner and that's why I couldn't see him before. Now he was out in the middle.

I went round to the other end of the porch and discovered to my delight that it had doors that opened. This of course meant that when I did so, Cookie went to the other end of the porch. This happened several times. I'd be at one end, Cookie at another until it occurred to me he was probably hungry and I went inside to get a bowl of food.

I crawled once again under the spider infested porch, worms and soft mud squishing under my knees. It was very Indiana Jones. Cookie saw the food bowl and didn't dart away. Instead he started to eat and let me pet him a little. He then took of to the other end. I followed. We did this several times again until Cookie got fed up and went right out the other side and onto a driveway. He then hid in some bushes, but let me sit next to him with the food bowl.

The truly hilarious thing was that during all this searching for Cookie, Tye and Shauna the feline wards of what we like to call our "Banjo Neighbours" just down the street, were following me around the whole time. There was even another cat that joined me at one point, plus another one that looked exactly like Cookie but skinnier. Damn, I thought to myself. I can find every bloody black cat in this neighbourhood except my own.

So needless to say, Shauna was right there beside me when I was giving the food to Cookie. I gave Shauna a little handful and Cookie took this opportunity to leave his spot and go on the lawn. He wasn't too frantic so I knew that the time to strike was close at hand. I put the food down and Cookie began to eat and then turned his back to me.

WHOOPAH! I snatched him up into my arms and held on for dear life, hoping I wouldn't require a blood transfusion from all the scratches that surely awaited me. Instead, Cookie just seemed stunned and then began to wiggle and whimper. I had preset my front door so I was able to just push it open with my feet. In we went and I plopped him on the floor.

His expression was quite comical. It went from "Jesus H. Christ!" to "Oh. This is my house." He then wandered off to the litter box. I would think that after nearly 24 hours missing, he needed the facilities.

I went back outside, cleaned up the mess I'd made pulling my neighbour's recycling out from the porch, and then brought the water bowls and pillow cases inside.

The Marine came downstairs and I could tell he was proud of me. "This is a perfect example" I said "of why you just can't give up sometimes."

"Yes." said the Marine as he sat on the couch, at which time Cookie came up to him and began to lick his hand.

"See?" I said. "He does too love you."