The Saga of Dan and Hannah’s Boots (1 of 7)

Monday

Picture this.  I’m just sitting in our living room at our home of 29 years in York, Maine, writing in my journal when Boots, our black cat with four white paws, ever so calmly saunters up our driveway right toward me.  That may not sound so amazing, but Boots has been gone for nearly a year!  I swear it’s Boots.  Like a cat burglar (I am so shallow that I couldn’t resist that pun.), I quietly step to the front door, open it; and boom, with the creaking of the door, Boots bolts into the woods of pines and hemlocks by our house.   Astonished!  Stunned!  Dumbfounded!  Overwhelmed!  I empty the thesaurus. Boots has come home.

When Boots, our exotic short hair cat of five years, didn’t return home last September, we thought a coyote or a fisher cat in this rural part of town might have done him in.  But today my eyes do not deceive me, Boots has come home.  Hannah and I are indoor/outdoor cat people.  We believe that our cats should have the chance to hunt mice in the yard and chase chipmunks in our wood piles.  We do know the risks of letting him out, but for five years, without fail, Boots returned daily, that is, until twelve months ago this September. 

Maybe like your dog or cat, Boots was a part of our family.  He’d sit on my lap when I read the Sunday Globe sports section or just lie on the floor at our feet when we sat with wine in the evenings before the fireplace in winter.  He’d plop on the dining room table right where Hannah was writing her cards and letters.  Though on occasion he would scratch the arms of our sofa to "sharpen" his claws; that was indeed a small price to pay for such an affectionate cat. 

Last September our hearts were torn open (ripped really) when Boots didn’t return that late summer day.  We figured he was just gone for a while.  Initially, each day when we returned from work, we’d look to see if Boots was back in the yard.  In time we got out of the habit and out of hope.  Come November, there were days we’d forget to look at all.  Then with the snows of winter, we knew he was gone for good. 

And yet there he is.  Boots is not gaunt or haggard.  He is lean but not desperate.  I immediately jump to the conclusion that he, in fact, hasn’t spent last winter totally in the wild.  Jumping higher, I figure some kind-hearted family took him in when he appeared at their door, not knowing that Boots was our cat.  Welcome home, Boots.