Some of you may have missed the very tense drama at our house on Tuesday when Beatriz, the Wonder Cat, became Beatriz, the Wander Cat. Carl was getting food for Blue and Bea shot out the door and was simply gone. After much recrimination (self and otherwise directed) and a frantic search, he went to get posters printed and I went to work, furious, upset and furious, because of course, the cardinal rule of the house: Do NOT let the cats out.
He distributed the posters. He talked to people in the neighborhood. He even had a tip from a Jehovah's Witness.
When I pulled in about he was standing on the front step scanning the neighborhood. My headlights caught a glimpse of a fluffy white butt under his car so I sprang from my car, grabbed her, and we both carried her inside, where one of us sobbed openly and one of us--the atheist in the family--openly admitted that he had been praying all day.
Now to put this in further perspective, I must tell you that Carl was NOT a cat person when he moved in after our marriage. He loved Bella, but she was easy to love, and even though he went with me when I got Bea, they hadn't really bonded.
Until baseball season.
That's when she began sprawling on his morning newspaper, flirting, begging for attention, charming him, twirling him around her paw, until one morning, I heard him say, "You have to move, hairbag. Daddy has to read the baseball box scores."
Daddy? Yes. And then, improbably, Dada, as in, "Dada will move you so you're comfy and he can read the box scores."
Carl is not a sentimental man, as many of you know, nor is he given to gushing or mushy stuff.
So that's all the more reason to look at the attached photo and smile…and know that all hearts can be moved.