Sonny came home!

Well... not sonny, Pookah!

Who is Pookah?

A cat. A 'foster-cat,' to be precise. A little over two years ago a friend of mine was going through a tough time and asked my parents to foster her two cats while she was in between apartments. Six months of animosity between the two foster-demons and the other 3 cats had pushed us to the edge of charity. Demon 1 and Demon 2 also had a nasty habit of shredding the wood trim around several doors in our house. I was done, Dad was ripping pissed, and Mom said enough. I called my friend and told her "That's it, we're done, come get them."

Much to our dismay she informed us that we'd have to take them to the SPCA because she couldn't take them back. My family has always rescued animals, we have NEVER been the people dumping them on someones doorstep. Well... we couldn't start now!

So Demon 1 and Demon 2 became cats four and five in the Ehrets house. Officially, and when I was feeling more charitable towards them their names were Pookah and Snuggles. Over the next year and a half Dad took a liking to them. He called them his 'dogs' because they'd follow him around the house and come when he called. Pookah in particular was devoted to my father. He'd lay in bed with him or sit at his feet when Dad was in the living room in his chair. He'd beg to be taken on walks so much that I bought a tiny harness so we could leash him and take him out with our real dog, Cedar.

When Dad got sick Pookah became even more attached to him. He never left Dad's side. In fact, he got so persistent with trying to climb into Dad's increasingly bony lap and kneading it into softness that we had to pull him away at times.

On the last day, Pookah hid. He was actively terrified of being near my father. Towards the final hours he finally capitulated enough to let us put him on the back of a chair in the same room. I don't know if animals truly sense death coming but he certainly was acting different. After Dad passed Pookah jumped up on the bed and kept rubbing his head against him as if he could wake him up and demand pets. It broke our hearts to see it.

For the next few days Pookah acted pretty normal. A bit subdued, but that was no different from the rest of us. Then came the day of Dad's memorial service. When we got home Pookah was no where to be found. The house was full of people and we were assured that he was inside and just hiding somewhere. By the next morning we knew that was not the truth. Sometime just after the funeral Pookah had disappeared.

We put out notices to the neighbors, scoured the fields and roads and yet nothing; he was gone. Dad's cat was gone. We lost him.

Sonofabitch.

Exactly one week has gone by since the memorial service. My mom just got a phone call from one of the neighbors, who sang out, "I think I've caught your cat."

She did! Pookah is restored! Pookah is an idiot! But Pookah is home!!!

I cant believe how jubilant we all are at the return of this fuzzy moron. Dad's cat is home.