Words and pictures from the author of the Elizabeth Goodweather Appalachian Mysteries
Saturday, January 5, 2008
The Secret Life of Ed E. Cat
Last Wednesday night while the temperature and the snow fell, Eddie, the big ex-tom, insisted that he had to go Out. He'll be back in a minute or two, I thought, turning the porch light on. But he wasn't. I called and called for him to no avail. I got up in the middle of the night and called some more -- still no Eddie. Morning came, icy cold and blowing snow -- no Eddie. By the afternoon I'd decided that a coyote must have gotten him and then, around 4:30, in he strolled, calm and self-possessed as only a cat can be.
He nibbled a little cat chow and retired to our bed to curl up for a nap. A few hours later I picked him up so I could spread out the comforter. There was an unfamiliar smell. Eddie's thick black coat was redolent with perfume -- and it wasn't any I owned.
Obviously Eddie's private life is far more complex than I'd ever imagined. But he's not talking.
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