I always kept my cats inside the house. Especially when I still lived in Amsterdam, it was simply not possible to have them outside, they would probably be dead in an instant. But when I moved to my current home, they showed more and more interest in going outside. As I live in a pretty cute neighborhood, I thought, let’s go for it (though they had lived in a garden cage for a few years, so they had half an outside experience, hihi.
So we took out the garden cage, thank you parents, and the cats were free! At first it freaked me out a bit, but I was happy for them they could go outside and be cats. I was very worried about Schram, the ‘ugliest’ one who came from the streets and is a bit scared, but now we are a year later and Schram is the one I worry about the least. Vloekje is cuddling with the tourists way too much, I am still afraid someone might take this cute little Norwegian Forest Cat. But I should have worried more about Moksie, who actually went missing a month ago.
It was Thursday night and I noticed on Friday that he hadn’t come home. Did I lock him in a closet accidentally? Did one of my neighbors lock him in the shed without noticing he was there? Was he sick and did he just walk away to die somewhere all by itself, as cats do? I was really not okay with it. It is funny how I would always say: IF THEY WANT TO LEAVE, THEY ARE FREE. And then it actually happens and I fall apart like some insane person.
Cause that is what happened. The longer he did not come home, the more desperate I became. My dearest A and L, and even W, came over to help me search for the little fcker, walking all through my block spreading flyers, yelling his name, anything. It was so disturbing not to have any clue on where he was. Was he alive? Was he scared? Did someone just take him and was he happy there?
One time I was about to go see Han Solo with A and his father when a lady called me: “I think I see your cat here at someones house, but she says its her own cat”. She even shot a video of the cat, and I was 90 percent sure it was Moksie. The weird thing is, he looks like a Siamese cat but he is not: he is half ragdoll / half European, so it’s quite interesting that this Siamese cat of this lady was so much alike him. It really wasnt him though, he was way smaller. He had the same dumb look in his eyes and the same colors though, so it was heartbreaking seeing her there with her little cat.
L really helped me so much when Moksie was gone, she searched for him when I was not home, she listened to all the crazy things I said, I really do not know how she managed to not murder me in the process. Especially after we visited that lady, and I kept telling people that I thought he ended up in the bin and the garbage men took him and he probably died in the garbage truck.
So while I was totally believing myself, as it seemed like a very plausible story as I took the trash out on Thursday evening, at day 10 I started to no longer hope too much for him coming back. I had searched so many hours with so many people, everybody in my block was warned, he was just gone, whatever. It was a horrible thought, but the chances were so slim of him coming home. I missed him so much, the way he would always greet me when I came home, how nice his smell is, how I can pick him up and cuddle him in the weirdest ways…
So on the evening of the twelfth day of little Moksie being gone, I went to this comedy event with L. We were both pretty hammered, which is weird cause it was just a normal workday the day after. I had way too many Red Bulls, it was insane, and I went to sleep at 2 o clock. Then at half past 2 I woke up, cause I heard a cat come in downstairs, loudly meowing. I was looking around: hmm, it seems Vloekje and Schram are with me. Could it be? Am I dreaming?
And there he was, jumping on the bed like it was a normal evening, but meowing like crazy. I could hear him being surprised by his little trip as well. Having no idea where he went, I did see that his eyes looked less shiny as they usually would. He was covered in dirt, he was super skinny, and I was laughing so loud at him just coming in like that. Then I started crying, being so happy to know that he was okay. I gave him some water, some food and a shitload of cuddles and before I knew it, he was laying next to me sleeping, all at peace.
The days after I noticed he was a bit more scared than he usually was, so I think his little adventure was not the most pleasant one ever. I did also see him looking better and better every day, so after two/three days he could leave the house again. Not when I was in Ibiza though, cause I rather kept the three fluffy roommates together inside.
I am so happy he is back, and I was so surprised by how much it hurt me not having him around. I was really, really not okay, it was a heavy weight on my shoulders. Now we are okay again, and I am extremely happy about that. Not just because of him, just walking back like a Pink Panther, but also because of the dear people around me, looking out for not just him, but also me. ❤