Haven’t seen the damn cat all day. ALL DAY. She didn’t come out for breakfast this morning type of “all day” thing. Was I concerned? No. Cats are assholes. They do what they want.
Foster didn’t see her before he went to school.
I didn’t see her all day.
She wasn’t here when Foster got home.
With all the cats we’ve had hit on the road, his mind went to the worst place it could. “She’s dead. I know she’s dead” he said…over and over again with giant crocodile tears.…
*sigh* I do not like it when he genuinely cries. He can cry when he doesn’t get his way…not much remorse. But a sadness cry, I cannot take, not even if it’s about an asshole cat.
So, I have to go cat hunting. I walk all around the property, checking all ditches for cat carcass’. Calling and calling…a fucking cat. I tuck the husky away in the garage just in case he’s the reason she won’t show her whiskered little pain in the ass face.
I finally spotted the asshole cat. 16 feet up in a tree. Unhappy with little to no way to get down. I get the ladder, it’s not tall enough. I haul out the big ass 40 foot ladder. It weighs a metric ton. I attempt to put it upright against the tree.