Wish you were here... (Sassy)
So there I was, back in Iowa for the first time in almost a year, my mind and heart full of confused emotions about Iowa City and the Midwest, deep in the depths of a quarter-life crisis, and my dad tells me my best and most loyal friend is gone.
Well, not so much gone, but lost.
Sassy is lost.
For those of you who don’t know (and I’m assuming all of you don’t except my mom, who I found out reads my blog — thanks, ma), Sassy is my cat. Well, he was originally my sister’s cat. She got him for Christmas in 1994, but he became attached to me instead of her. I don’t know why, either. One morning, when I was in seventh grade, school was cancelled as I was on the bus to South East. When I got home I sat in the living room and watched SportsCenter all morning. Stirred by some cosmic urge — one of those strange occurrences of fate — I looked into the kitchen and saw Sassy sitting on his hind legs, pawing his mouth, trying to pull something out of his throat. I got up and patted him on the back. A big chunk of Friskie’s dropped to the floor. Most likely if school hadn’t been cancelled, and I hadn’t been there to rescue him, Sassy would have choked to death. So maybe all his years of loyalty were for me saving his life.
I didn’t take him with me when I moved to California. I didn’t know if I’d be able to afford feeding him — let alone myself — and pay for his insulin (I had to give him injections of insulin every morning and night to treat his diabetes). I didn’t think he could handle all the relocating, so Sassy stayed at my parent’s house in Iowa City, where he’d always lived. I missed him a lot, and he missed me. My dad said Sassy would go into my room, expecting me to be sitting in my blue chair, and would look around confused when he couldn’t find me. He sat in the foyer every day, waiting for me to come back, but I didn’t fly home until Christmas. When I walked through the door for the first time in almost four months he looked at me like he couldn’t believe it. He stared at me and didn’t move. His green eyes questioned everyone else as if he was asking, “Is it really him?”
When I flew back to Iowa City last Thursday I was so excited to see him. I hadn’t been back in almost 10 months, and I hoped he wasn’t mad at me. All I could think about in Denver was, “Two more hours before I see Sassy.”
My parents and sister picked me up when I got to Cedar Rapids. After I got my bag I told my sister, “I get to see Sassy.” Without a word she smiled and turned away. In the car, just as we left the parking lot, I turned to my dad and said, “I get to see Sassy.” My dad took his eyes off the road and looked at me with the same straight face he always had when something unfortunate happened.
“We’ve had a little commotion at home the past few weeks,” he said.
Oh shit, I thought.
“What happened?”
“Sassy got out two weeks ago and we’ve been looking for him ever since. We didn’t say anything because we thought we’d have found him by now.”
Like I said, there I was. I hadn’t been back 15 minutes — we weren’t even on 380 heading south yet — when all my excitement about returning to Iowa City fell flat.
I didn’t know how to feel. I went numb. Besides the few times I heard him meow when my parents called, I had lived without Sassy since after New Years. I suppose going so long without seeing him made it easier to endure. When I got home it was strange not to see him. I kept waiting for him to trot up the steps or swagger into my room like he didn’t know why he was in there, though he knew damn well he wanted me to pick him up and just be near me.
The good news is hope is not all lost. Mom and dad put up signs around the east side and have had a few good leads.
A woman who lives on Second and Friendship called and said she thinks Sassy has been hanging around her house for the past few weeks.
It looks like Sassy, walks like Sassy, acts like Sassy, but he’s been elusive enough to keep everyone, include me, skeptical. While I was in Iowa City I went over a few times and called his name, got out a flashlight to see him at night, but I was never able to get a good, close look. My parents have tried to catch him, to see if it truly is him, but to no avail.
The vet said he’s mad, which is why he’s been eluding us at Susan’s house. Most likely he’s mad because I haven’t been there for a long time. Of course, he decided to run away two weeks before I came to visit. But he’s a hunter, and he’s always loved to be outside. My dad said he’s having “an adventure.” During the severe weather last night I wondered where he was and if he was okay, wondered if he was even alive. He can survive without his insulin, so he can make it on his own without medication. But I’m worried about what he’ll do when the temperatures start to drop and winter arrives.
“He knows where food and love are,” my dad said, echoing what the vet told him.
It didn’t really hit me until I came back today, when I dropped my backpack and luggage on the floor in my room and realized I went home and didn’t see him. Yes, I cried — I’m a sentimental guy. I thought about how he jumped on my bed every morning when I was in high school, nudging my chin to wake me up before my clock radio went off; the way he reached with his front legs when he wanted to be picked up; the way he put his front paws around my neck when I held him.
Sassy’s lost, and possibly gone forever. The last time I saw him was on January 4, when I hugged him goodbye before going to the airport. I think he knew I was leaving again because he wasn’t thrilled, wasn’t lovey. I don’t remember it very well, but I remember the morning I left Iowa City for California the first time. He didn’t want to be picked up. All he wanted to do was go out on the screened-in deck and be outside. So I opened the door and let him out.
Well, not so much gone, but lost.
Sassy is lost.
For those of you who don’t know (and I’m assuming all of you don’t except my mom, who I found out reads my blog — thanks, ma), Sassy is my cat. Well, he was originally my sister’s cat. She got him for Christmas in 1994, but he became attached to me instead of her. I don’t know why, either. One morning, when I was in seventh grade, school was cancelled as I was on the bus to South East. When I got home I sat in the living room and watched SportsCenter all morning. Stirred by some cosmic urge — one of those strange occurrences of fate — I looked into the kitchen and saw Sassy sitting on his hind legs, pawing his mouth, trying to pull something out of his throat. I got up and patted him on the back. A big chunk of Friskie’s dropped to the floor. Most likely if school hadn’t been cancelled, and I hadn’t been there to rescue him, Sassy would have choked to death. So maybe all his years of loyalty were for me saving his life.
I didn’t take him with me when I moved to California. I didn’t know if I’d be able to afford feeding him — let alone myself — and pay for his insulin (I had to give him injections of insulin every morning and night to treat his diabetes). I didn’t think he could handle all the relocating, so Sassy stayed at my parent’s house in Iowa City, where he’d always lived. I missed him a lot, and he missed me. My dad said Sassy would go into my room, expecting me to be sitting in my blue chair, and would look around confused when he couldn’t find me. He sat in the foyer every day, waiting for me to come back, but I didn’t fly home until Christmas. When I walked through the door for the first time in almost four months he looked at me like he couldn’t believe it. He stared at me and didn’t move. His green eyes questioned everyone else as if he was asking, “Is it really him?”
When I flew back to Iowa City last Thursday I was so excited to see him. I hadn’t been back in almost 10 months, and I hoped he wasn’t mad at me. All I could think about in Denver was, “Two more hours before I see Sassy.”
My parents and sister picked me up when I got to Cedar Rapids. After I got my bag I told my sister, “I get to see Sassy.” Without a word she smiled and turned away. In the car, just as we left the parking lot, I turned to my dad and said, “I get to see Sassy.” My dad took his eyes off the road and looked at me with the same straight face he always had when something unfortunate happened.
“We’ve had a little commotion at home the past few weeks,” he said.
Oh shit, I thought.
“What happened?”
“Sassy got out two weeks ago and we’ve been looking for him ever since. We didn’t say anything because we thought we’d have found him by now.”
Like I said, there I was. I hadn’t been back 15 minutes — we weren’t even on 380 heading south yet — when all my excitement about returning to Iowa City fell flat.
I didn’t know how to feel. I went numb. Besides the few times I heard him meow when my parents called, I had lived without Sassy since after New Years. I suppose going so long without seeing him made it easier to endure. When I got home it was strange not to see him. I kept waiting for him to trot up the steps or swagger into my room like he didn’t know why he was in there, though he knew damn well he wanted me to pick him up and just be near me.
The good news is hope is not all lost. Mom and dad put up signs around the east side and have had a few good leads.
A woman who lives on Second and Friendship called and said she thinks Sassy has been hanging around her house for the past few weeks.
It looks like Sassy, walks like Sassy, acts like Sassy, but he’s been elusive enough to keep everyone, include me, skeptical. While I was in Iowa City I went over a few times and called his name, got out a flashlight to see him at night, but I was never able to get a good, close look. My parents have tried to catch him, to see if it truly is him, but to no avail.
The vet said he’s mad, which is why he’s been eluding us at Susan’s house. Most likely he’s mad because I haven’t been there for a long time. Of course, he decided to run away two weeks before I came to visit. But he’s a hunter, and he’s always loved to be outside. My dad said he’s having “an adventure.” During the severe weather last night I wondered where he was and if he was okay, wondered if he was even alive. He can survive without his insulin, so he can make it on his own without medication. But I’m worried about what he’ll do when the temperatures start to drop and winter arrives.
“He knows where food and love are,” my dad said, echoing what the vet told him.
It didn’t really hit me until I came back today, when I dropped my backpack and luggage on the floor in my room and realized I went home and didn’t see him. Yes, I cried — I’m a sentimental guy. I thought about how he jumped on my bed every morning when I was in high school, nudging my chin to wake me up before my clock radio went off; the way he reached with his front legs when he wanted to be picked up; the way he put his front paws around my neck when I held him.
Sassy’s lost, and possibly gone forever. The last time I saw him was on January 4, when I hugged him goodbye before going to the airport. I think he knew I was leaving again because he wasn’t thrilled, wasn’t lovey. I don’t remember it very well, but I remember the morning I left Iowa City for California the first time. He didn’t want to be picked up. All he wanted to do was go out on the screened-in deck and be outside. So I opened the door and let him out.
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