Where’s Pickles?

Got up this morning late for work. Hillary is chasing me around the kitchen … “mew, mew, mew, mew

“OK, ok. Do you want cookies? Yes? Where’s Pickles?” No Pickles. I shake the bag of cookies. No Pickles. Shouting and shaking the cookies, “Pickles … cookies! Pickles?” Still no Pickles.

Now I am getting worried. Each of the cats has been locked in a closet and forgotten at least once. They run in when you aren’t looking and hours later (when I go hunting) I find them. 

Pantry? No Pickles.

Laundry room? No Pickles.

Under-stairway closet? No Pickles.

Bedroom closets? No Pickles.

Has Number 2 son left for class? Walk out the the back door through the laundry room. His car is gone. Did Pickles get out? (He is an indoor cat only). I yell into the back yard, “PICKLES.” 


Now I am really worried. I walk back inside. Back through the laundry room. “Pickles???????”

Open the door into the kitchen. Pickles is looking up at me … dazed and confused. “Where were you? Cookies?” “M’yawow” I take that to mean yes. So they get their cookies.

Mrs yells something at me from the bedroom. She had spent the night dozing in the third zero-gravity chair she has in the bedroom (sometimes she sleeps better in her chair). After I had been shouting COOKIES for a while she noticed something stirring under the covers. Pickles finally emerged groggily from a deep sleep.

Then I remembered. Pickles had jumped up on the bed in the middle of the night, damp from playing in the shower. We run the AC cold and he was cold. He crawled down under the covers next to me and passed out. I had forgotten about him. 


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