My male cat Buddy is the original creature of habit. He does the same things at the same times and in the same ways day after day after day. Original thoughts aren’t something he entertains a lot.
One of Buddy’s favourite routine activities is to run around outside after dark. Every night, winter or summer. So, in the evenings after supper, I let him out and he takes off in search of his cat pals from here and there up and down my block. He was a feral cat when I got him, living by railroad tracks in a village near my home, so his ways are mysterious.
On hot summer nights, he won’t show up at the door again until morning. But in winter, he stays out only as long as he can put up with the cold. And he can put with the cold until five minutes after I’ve gone to bed.
Every night it’s the same story. I shut off the TV, then go to the front door, open it and look out. I yell out my first call of the night: “Come on Buddy. Here boy. Bedtime.” I look up and down the street. There is not an animal to be seen in any direction.
Back inside, I shut off the kitchen lights and then head to the bedroom to change into my pyjamas. I go back to the door, stick my head outside and call again: “Come on Buddy. That’s a boy. Come on in!” The street is quiet and empty, like a ghost town in a cowboy movie. I go back inside.
I shut off the livingroom lights, draw the curtains, lower the thermostat, shut off the diningroom light and go back to the front door. “Come on Buddy,” I holler. “BUUDDYY!!!
Nothing.
“Here kitty, kitty, kitty! That’s a boy! Come on in!!!”
Less than nothing. The air is still. If there are any small beings out there, they’re all hiding and holding their breath.
Back in the bedroom, I turn off all but the bedside lamp, flick on the radio and find a magazine to read. I turn back the sheets and kick off my slippers. Then head to the front door for one last try.
“BUUUUUUDDDDDDYYYYYY!!!”
Nothing.
I wait by the door for five minutes. Then look again.
“HERE KITTY, KITTY, KITTY!!!
Nothing.
Last ditch effort: bribery.
“D’ya want something to eat, Buddy? You can have something to eat! I’ve got some nice food here for you!”
I loudly and vigorously shake a jar filled with kibble.
Nothing.
“Okay, that’s it. The little beggar can freeze to the sidewalk for all I care.” I flick off the porch light. Lock the door.
Finally, into bed. Read for a while. Shut off the light. Turn down the radio. Pull up the covers. Roll over. Snuggle up. Close my eyes. Let out a big breath. Start to lose consciousness. Watch the opening credits to my first dream.
And at the front door …
“Meeeeeeoooooowwwwww!!!”
Out of bed. On with the light. Open the door. And as he strolls by me on the way to his bed in the basement, Buddy always glances back at me as if to say: “What the heck kept you? It’s cold out there.”
Did I mention Buddy likes to live dangerously?
©1989 Jim Hagarty
