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.
