The Runaways
Call me cruel, but I have to smirk each time I see one of those homemade handbills announcing the search for a missing pet in the neighborhood.
You know the type: Plain letter-size paper. Taped to a telephone pole or street sign. Name of the missing animal. Date of departure. Owner’s contact info. Testimonial to his or her good nature and/or “bestest-ness.” And a picture that makes the animal look either like an amorphous blob or the spawn of the devil (depending on the level of red-eye.)
Even in these few words, you often sense a level of anxiety and anguish that you wouldn’t wish on anyone. Rest assured: This is not what amuses me. In fact, my writing of this post virtually ensures that my own beloved pet – a spunky, swaggering Boston terrier – will soon go missing and thus run me through this same wringer. So take heart, those of you who are already offended beyond the pale.
No, I smirk because I can’t help but think, “Hasn’t your pet – through the very act of absconding – in effect rendered its verdict on life at your home?”
To take it a step further, does the animal have any other recourse for communicating such preferences or registering its grievances? I mean, how many times can you crap on the stairs or the shower mat without effect before you throw up your paws and say, “This here is broke beyond fixin’”?
For this reason, I’m not entirely sure what I would do if the pet in question were to saunter by just as I was reading one of these posters. I’m sure it’s a crime of some sort to take animal in and NOT call the owner – and that’s a good thing. But the dime-store shrink in me would certainly want to ask some pointed questions in furnishing the return.
“How have things been with Sandy lately? Did she give you any indication something like this was coming? Has she crapped on your bath mat recently?”
Granted, I would probably not appreciate such inquiries from a neighbor returning my dog – were he to split on me. I would want, however, to get to the bottom of some of these issues and work through some of the hurt feelings that would inevitably be in play. These latter can poison a game of fetch faster than you can yell, “Stop eating that rabbit sh*t!”
Fortunately, I can envision my dog and me patching things up fairly quickly. After all, I can convince myself that a dog might jump a fence in chase of a squirrel or skunk, only to look up some minutes later and not recognize his surroundings.
Cats, however, pose a different dilemma. In fact, if your cat could suddenly speak, the very first thing he or she would tell you (after, “You need some friends.”) is that there are no accidents in a cat’s life - only intent.
This is why I would call the owner of a cat if I saw it, but wouldn’t try to apprehend it myself. Most cats seem to pick up life on the street pretty quickly. And for those who don’t, well, do I really need to finish this thought?
