Posted Monday, April 24, 2006 by Gene

The lesson, as always: never build on top of a Hellmouth
Man dies when large hole opens in home

Schadenfreude of the week
Harvard author faces scrutiny

If you don't understand why one might derive pleasure from discovering that the Harvard freshman who signed a $500K book deal for her first book might be guilty of plagiarism, then you probably aren't a writer.

And the cat came back
One of our cats went missing on the 18th, when one of son Tim's friends left the door to our home open. At least, that's what we think happened, insofar as three of our five cats ended up outside, and while Tim claims the doors were all shut all the time we're not prepared to accept that three feline-related quantum miracles took place in the same afternoon. Two of the cats-- Pepper and Moki-- were quickly recovered, because they are young and stupid and had never been free outside before. (They were found in the garage and under the porch. I'm reminded of a hamster I had as a child who, upon escaping from his habitrail, climbed into the maze I'd made for him in wood shop and got stuck in there for the night.)

The third cat was our oldest and-- theoretically-- our wisest, Constantine. 'Tine had been out for a full week once, when we first moved, and used to jump off our second floor porch to the nearby garage in order to wander the neighborhood for a while. Then he'd wait for us at the back porch for when we let the dog out. But that was a while ago, and he's pushing thirteen years now so his jumping and wandering days are pretty much over; I guess nobody told him this when he wandered out.

For two days wife Deb was inconsolable, because not only is 'Tine her favorite cat, he went missing exactly one month after the death of my father, and you just can't buy that kind of parallel. And he wouldn't turn up. We called the shelters and the people whose job it is to clean up dead animals in the road and nobody had him. One of us walked the neighborhood every few hours calling his name at all times of day and night-- there is a class action restraining order pending from our neighbors for this-- but he wouldn't show.

Finally, on Friday night at around 11, I went out alone for a quick (it was cold) walk around the block, not expecting much. I learned two things: first, we have a skunk in the neighborhood. (Quick fact: Constantine is a black-and-white cat.) He and I said hello and then got away from one another very quickly, so that worked out more or less okay once my heart started beating again. Second, the apartment building two houses down from us, which has been gutted and is being rebuilt, is wide open. I mean, when I went by I saw that a window was open, and when I peeked through the window I saw that the door to the ground floor was also open. I stepped inside through the doorway and called for the cat a few times, but didn't go any further because I didn't have a flashlight with me. And this was exactly the situation where, in the movies, one either finds a body or becomes one.

So I went home and told Deb. Not expecting much, we gathered what light-making products we had (keychain flashlights, mostly) and went back to the scary abandoned half-built building. Because everyone knows psychotic killers won't attack if you travel together.

We did not find a body, or a killer. We did find our cat. He was curled up on a blanket in a soon-to-be closet on the first floor, no more than twenty feet from the door where I'd stood earlier calling him. Why he didn't walk over then I don't know, except that I'm not sure any of our cats like me much, so maybe that's sort of normal.