A Cat Named Boo

When we moved to the country we brought along our two cats--Boo and Snotch. Boo was a beautiful gray and white that would "talk" to me. He'd rub my legs and meow gently. He always instinctively knew when I was taking a nap; He'd come while I was asleep, knead my long hair on the pillow and curl up next to me. Snotch was younger by a couple months, a large orange tabby with a gentle disposition.

We'd always kept Boo and Snotch indoors when we lived in the suburbs. I detest tying cats to a leash. So I was looking forward to giving them more freedom when we moved to the country. With room to roam and free access in and out I thought it would be perfect for my feline friends. They could finally be in the fresh outdoors.

As if they'd landed on a new planet and weren't sure it was safe, their first steps on the green grass were tentative. But within a couple days they were at the door, scratching to go outside. They spent more and more time out but would always come in by nightfall.

We'd been in our new home only one month when Snotch didn't come back. The next morning we saw what looked like a fox on the highway, an obvious victim to the many cars that traverse past our house. Hopeful that my gut was wrong, I called for Snotch anyway. But to no avail. Snotch had been hit by a car. I missed him, but Boo missed him more. He became more needy of my attention and could usually be found by my side. But Boo had also gotten a taste for the out of doors. He cried to go out constantly, and I, being a softy, would still let him go.

By that winter Boo too was missing. We went to all our neighbors' homes with a flyer asking if any had seen our beloved cat. No one had. We never found his body on the highway or in the ditches, so there was always a faint hope that he would come back. But there are coyotes in our area; we often hear their eerie wails at night, sometimes close to the house.

Five years ago I went to the Humane Society and picked out two new cats--Scribble and Poet--who have become our spoiled kitties. Brothers of opposite dispositions, they chase each other around the house and tackle each other. Scribble has a bit of an eating disorder--think 20 pound cat!--and Poet is so shy that those who've taken care of him while we're on vacation never see him. I never let them out of the house now, which I find unfortunate, yet I don't want their fate to be that of their predecessors. They seem well adjusted in their ignorance of the outside world. No itch to explore. Our house is their universe.

It's been over nine years since Boo disappeared, but I still find myself looking for that gray and white who talked to me.