Ilya Kovalchuk

The cats and I have an arrangement: they’re allowed to stay out at night, if they like, and if they knock at the back door (which opens into my bedroom) when they’re ready, I will let them in. This keeps me from staying up until everyone’s in, and keeps them from freezing their little patooties off when it’s cold out.

Usually this works pretty well. There are a few hiccups though. Sometimes they’ll knock and then decide they don’t want to come in after all. Anyone who knows me knows that I am not what is called a “morning person,” so it shows my kitty devotion, that I am willing to wake up in the middle of the night in service of my wee beasties. When they then say OH NEVER MIND LADY! I get a bit ticked off. When they do it twice, I get quite incensed. They know better, we’ve had this system in place for two years now.

Thursday morning, Ilya Kovalchuk did it twice. When he knocked a third time, I said SCREW YOU ILYA KOVALCHUK! Normally when this happens, he’ll come in when I get up and feed the cats their breakfast, no problem. Except he didn’t. And he hasn’t shown his shiny little face or squeaked at me since. SO he’s been out for three nights and missed three breakfasts, and I fear the worst.

Please send good thoughts for the return of the cutest little cat in the entire world, that I love more than almost anything?

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Update: Today he squeaked at me and Choobie as we walked by the garage across the lane, and I prised open the door, which had been (too late–or too early, I suppose) securely wedged shut, and let my poor wee baby out. He seems none the worse for wear.