The Saturday after Thanksgiving she finally came home.
After what I’ve come to call a “seven-month camping trip in the wilds of Cranberry Township,” Arwen decided it was time to return for a roof over her head and three square meals a day.
After dusk that day I was on my way to collect my mail when I heard caterwauling nearby. It had been seven months, so I didn’t really think it was Arwen, but I started to walk toward the kitty and called to her. She kept crying, and when I got too close she dashed under a nearby porch.
Later that night, after returning from an errand, my neighbor was outside coaxing a cat with a bowl of milk. “I think it’s Arwen!” she said. I sat on the grass, and after a few minutes she came over for a quick pet and then backed away. I still wasn’t sure it was Arwen. After a little more coaxing, though, she got close enough for me to scoop her up. It was her.
Even though people had tried to encourage me with stories about cats who returned after unbelievably long absences, I never really thought I’d see Arwen again. But there she was, scrawny and bedraggled.
I love having her home, and after a month or so she returned to her normal self. There’s been some big adjustments to make, though. After she left, I had adopted two more cats! Two torties, Roxanne (a long-hair) and Tomassina (a short-hair) joined my family in late spring. Someone in their previous home developed allergies, and they were in need of a new place where they could stay together.
Naturally, I had no idea I’d end up with THREE cats. Oh, well. Lucky me! Three times the love!