In Pursuit of Mister Tiffy

Mister Tiffy’s papers say he’s a lilac point Himalayan. I’m not so sure about that, but he is stunningly handsome. Although he’s not the friendliest cat I’ve ever met, he will walk up to you, wrap his substantial tail around your leg, and melt your heart. He’s quite manipulative that way. Anyway, he was the only cat in a van full of dogs that had to be re-homed when their humans went to fight in Iraq. I wanted a man in the house and since I wasn’t having much success with humans, I decided to try a cat.

Mister Tiffy is a bit of a princess so he doesn’t get outside much and when he does, it’s under my watchful eye. I want to make sure he stays on property and doesn’t kill anything. I needn’t have worried. When he’s not rolling in ants or spraying his favorite bush, he nonchalantly moseys around the yard, seemingly oblivious to everything, including my presence. In truth, however, he is keenly aware of the focus of my attention. The second it’s not on him, he runs off to indulge in his greatest pleasure:  spraying the basement windows of my neighbor’s house. Mind you, in this neck of the woods, basements are mostly above ground and have pretty large windows. This would be noticeable.

I’m sure I’m the talk of the neighborhood. There’s a strip of trees and underbrush between the neighbor’s house and my house. I often emerge out of the woods and stand on the edge of my neighbor’s property, whispering loudly “Mister Tiffy! Get over here! Now!” He raises his bushy tail, runs onto their deck and sprays their gas grill cover. I’m horrified. Then he jumps onto the deck’s railing and struts his stuff in front of their picture window. God, I hope they’re not home! Finally, he races home, always finding an area of poison ivy to tramp through on his way back. I melt back into the woods and follow him home.

We were outside one day, moseying around as usual, an ant or two still clinging to his fur, when I spotted a bald eagle at the very top of an enormous pine tree across the street. I ran inside to get my binoculars, but when I got back outside, Mister Tiffy was gone. What was wrong with me? Why on earth did I leave a cat outside with an eagle. I felt an electric current of fear go through me. But the eagle was still there, its talons empty. I had to find Mister Tiffy.

Within seconds, I materialized from the woods just as I saw Mister Tiffy’s tail disappear into one of the neighbor’s basement windows. Who leaves a basement window open without a screen in an area full of mice, opossums, and bears? You’d think city people would know the dangers of leaving windows open. They’d deserve it if Mister Tiffy sprayed the inside of their house. At least that’s what I told myself. I crouched down and stealthily crossed their yard and peered into the window. He was curled up on a recliner. When I whispered his name, he lifted his head and looked at me with disinterest. Then he put his head back down and went to sleep.

What could I do? I was totally embarrassed and mortified, but I went to the front door and rang the bell. No one answered. I rang the bell again. I knocked loudly. Still, there was no answer. No one was home. I could extract the cat myself.

Quickly, I went back to the window and crawled through it. Mister Tiffy was still on the chair. He sized up the situation and ran up the stairs. He was in the main part of their house. Oh no! I had to go get him. If you know anything about cats, you know that if a cat doesn’t want to be found, you can’t find it. I’m convinced they have the power to become invisible. I looked behind every curtain and appliance, under every chair and sofa, and he was nowhere to be found. Did I dare go upstairs into their bedrooms? I did. 

Mister Tiffy was in the master bedroom, under the exact center of a California king sized bed. He looked smug. I couldn’t entice him out and I couldn’t reach him. I was going to have to poke him out with a large stick. It took a few minutes, but I found a duster with a telescoping handle. I went back to the bedroom and said, “I’m going to get you, you little bastard.”  Then I dropped to my knees, reached under the bed, and swung the duster from side to side. Nothing. I looked under the bed. There was still nothing. He was gone. He could be anywhere. 

I spent an hour searching the house. Finally, I gave up. The neighbors know he’s my cat. When they get home and see him on their kitchen counter eating whatever debris is in their sink, they’ll know who to call. Wait a minute! THEY left the window open. My cat escaped. It’s their fault if he got in. I’m in the clear. I just have to get home before they do. I put the duster back where I found it and headed back to the basement. After crawling back out the window, I stood up and dusted off my pants.

“Are you robbing us, Miss Laurel?”

Ty, one of my students, stood before me. Soon, I was also looking at his mom. I can’t even begin to describe my humiliation. In the end, truth won out. My neighbors weren’t too amused with my story, but they accepted it. The next day, Ty told EVERYONE at school all about it. It’ll be awhile before I live this one down. Knowing my co-workers, it could be years. 

When I got home, Mister Tiffy was rolling in ants. He got up, wrapped his tail around my leg, and I forgave him everything. The little manipulative shit!