Clyde's Back

Even when no one is home at AP's brownstone, there are two cats. AP's wife picked up two strays from the shelter; one for each of her children. Neither of them think of one of the cars as theirs. It might have to do with their dispositions. Clyde is the male. His fur is orange and white. Three months passed before he allowed AP's wife to touch him. His female compatriot Bonnie hid under the bed for over a year. She was a mistress of stealth. The only sign of her continued existence was the disappearance of food from her dish. Neither cat made any noise. They appeared at wraiths poking their heads through the bannisters of the brownstone. Even after two years of domestic bliss the two cats act like Stalag prisoners searching for escape. AP's wife paroled Clyde to the backyards of South Oxford. He roamed the alley in search of prey. Every once in a while he deposited dead birds on the back steps. These kills were for show. AP's kids thought that the killings were gross. A month ago Clyde left the house for a prowl. He didn't return that evening. His balls had been schlocked by the vet, so his AWOL was not for love. Another day passed without any sighting. AP wrote up a 'cat missing' poster and canvassed the neighborhood in hopes of Clyde's return. Five days into the disappearance AP and I agreed that Clyde had probably gone for good. A good father AP didn't discourage his children from calling out for Clyde. Bonnie came out of hiding and meowed at the back door. Clyde might have been a eunuch, but the black and white cat missed her mate. On the sixth day AP received a phone call from a neighbor. They had seen the poster and heard a cat's cries for help. Clyde had slipped into a basement without stairs. She rescued him from starvation and brought AP's missing cat home. AP's cat was really thin. He had a ferule look in his eyes. Clyde had come close to death. Bonnie greeted him with a passing caress. They were man and wife. Bonnie and Clyde.