Petunia

I did not think I would be bothered by a quarantine. I'm used to being alone. I'm a divorced male, a retired civil engineer, and I live alone in a cabin on fifty wooded acres. I write a humorous column for our local weekly paper, more to keep my mind occupied than for the paycheck. I like to read and do crossword puzzles on line. I chat with family and friends on email, and there's always something on Netflix or the television. I never felt isolated.

Last year there was a deadly virus killing old farts like me. Well, it killed others, too, or such strong measures would not have been taken. The government confined us all to quarters until a vaccination became available. Necessary workers still went about their business, at the risk of their lives, unfortunately, but the rest of us were grounded like misbehaving adolescents.

Petunia, my calico cat, had died only two months before the quarantine. I don't know how old she was, but I had had her for seventeen years when I buried her under the big oak that she loved to climb when we went outside. I could not believe how much I missed her because she annoyed the heck out of me. She was lethargic in her old age, but when she was young and frisky, she was so much trouble I sometimes felt like locking her out of the house.

She was young, but not a kitten, when she came to my door. She looked in through the screen, but ran away when I opened it. I put out some scraps, and she returned to eat hungrily. The next morning I bought cat food, and she came to my porch to eat. When the weather turned cold, I let her inside, and before I knew it I owned a cat, I thought. The truth was, I had brought a thief into my home.

I told my daughter Alice about the cat. She loves cats, and when next she came to visit, she brought a package of cat treats for Petunia and laid them on the kitchen counter. But when we went to give her some, the package wasn't there. We joked about Alice's getting old and forgetful at thirty-nine, and let it go. I had not thought of cat treats until Alice brought them, but I picked up two packages on my next trip to the grocery store. I left the bag of non perishable groceries on the kitchen counter while I walked to the utility room to put the meat in the chest freezer. When I began to put away the boxes and cans, the treats were missing. I looked at my receipt, and I was charged for them, so I was tempted to call the store and complain, but I let it go. I called Alice and asked her to bring a package when she came for dinner the next day.

When she arrived, she put the treats on the counter. I saw her put them there. But after she left, the package was gone. I wondered if she had fed the cat the whole package instead of just giving her a few. I called and asked her, but she said she had not even opened the package.

The mystery of the disappearing treats was solved when I looked under my bed for my missing bedroom slipper. My slipper was there, slightly chewed and scratched. And also under the bed were four ripped and empty cat treat packages.

Slippers and cat treats were not the only things the cat drug off, and she changed her hiding places as soon as I discovered her cache. She had a large collection of pens under the sofa, which explained why I could never find one on my desk. My reading glasses were between the sofa cushions. I searched days for a thumb drive before I found it in a shoe in my closet. I brought home Chinese for dinner, and the dinner was safe, but the chopsticks disappeared.

Things Petunia could not carry, she'd just knock off a surface and push to some hiding place. My flip phone was pushed under my desk, my paperback book under my easy chair, and my little cutting board under the stove. I learned to be more tidy, thanks to that cat. If I did not want to lose something, I put it away immediately.

Stealing was not Petunia's only bad habit. She drank out of my coffee cup or glass of iced tea if I left it sitting. I tried putting a saucer over the coffee cup, but she knocked it off to drink, and a paper towel over my glass of iced tea meant nothing. However, she never bothered my plate of food or even dishes left on the counter. She'd lie on any book I tried to read and on my keyboard when I tried to type. If I tried to write with a pen, she'd grab it in her teeth and run off.

That was the most annoying cat ever, and I missed her so much. It was especially difficult to lose her only weeks before I was allowed no other company. I said I was used to being alone, but I had not been alone. Petunia was always with me. So when another little calico came to my door, I was delighted. She looked just like Petunia, but my cat was spayed, so she could not be Petunia's kitten. This cat did not take any coaxing. She walked right into the house as if it were hers. And she lay on my keyboard. I named her Pansy and was really glad of her company even though she had the same annoying habits as my previous pet. She drank my coffee and tea, hid things, pushed things off surfaces, and tried to keep me from reading or working on my computer.

I told Alice about Pansy, of course, and she was eager to meet her. We talked on the phone about once a week, but the quarantine kept her from visiting. When it finally ended, and Alice felt it was safe, she came over with a package of teats. Pansy, surprisingly, was hiding somewhere and did not come out to check out my visitor. Alice put the treats on the kitchen counter, same as always, and we sat in the family room to talk. Pansy had not stolen the treats by the time Alice left. The two of us looked all over the cabin for her—and it's a small cabin—but we could not find her. Alice said she hoped to meet Pansy on her next visit, gave up and left without seeing my new cat.

The next morning the treats were still on the counter. The water dish and cat food dish were full. My paperback book was still on the coffee table. I went to empty the litter box; it was perfectly clean. All my pens were in the cup on my desk. There were no cat hairs on my keyboard.

Alice thinks I went stir crazy and imagined I had a new cat, but I still see Pansy sometimes sitting under the oak tree, or maybe it's Petunia I see.