The Snooch ran away on me. It was Tuesday, when I was studying in the living room. I had multiple wine-related websites open, books spread out, and cross-referencing like mad. The Snooch came out to offer his assistance with my work. I declined his offer. He demanded my attention. I shooed him away. He returned, and placed himself, well, right where I would be able to really see him.
I had enough distractions. I picked him up and moved him. He huffed off into the kitchen. Where I had the door cracked. I didn't think it was cracked that wide. I was wrong.
As I was getting ready to leave to teach a noon yoga class, I went to close all the doors, so the bitches would be confined to the living room. I went into Smang's room, and Jelly was in the middle of the bed. The Snooch was not. I looked under the bed. I looked in the bathroom. I looked in the yoga room, my bathroom, my room, garage, kitchen. I went a little nutso trying to find him. Then I called Smang. She said, "he's probably hiding somewhere in the house. He's done this before."
He'd never done it to me. He always comes when I call him. And he wasn't. Smang told me to fetch the catnip, and crinkle its container. Where ever he was, she assured me that this would bring him running. So, I walked around the house, clacking the plastic. I went into the front yard. I walked down our street. I went into our back yard. I got down on my hands and knees.
"Snoooooooooooooch! Snoopy! Meow man! Please kittykittykitty!!"
Nothing. Nada. Nil.
I had to leave for class. I called Smang again. She said she would leave the office right then and come find him. I drove away. She drove home. When she walked in the house, guess who waiting at the back door, with quite the tale to tell.
"Mom, Heather locked me out! Do you see this? Help me, mommy!" That fat crapper man.
He wants to be friends again. I haven't forgiven him yet. He was the one man I thought I could count on. The Snooch is an asshole.