A Cat Mystery

I’m a fan of mysteries, including cozy mysteries, but I haven’t dived into the cat-cozy genre yet—except that recently, I lived through an actual cat mystery that still has me wondering. My neighbors had a big orange cat who walked past my living room window, where I often sit to write, multiple times a day. Changing his name to protect the innocent, like any good true crime writer, I’ll call him Fat Cat. 

Strutting or prowling according to his mood and purpose, Fat Cat acted like he owned both our front and back yards. I didn’t mind one bit. He was a beautiful cat, and I figured he could be an unofficial part of our rodent management plan. I didn’t think too much about the hazards he faced daily. Coyotes in particular are infamous in our neighborhood, but it was clear Fat Cat relished his freedom. He was, indeed, a fat and happy cat. 

In December, Nora, a sweet black Labrador mix, joined our family. My daughter Laura (whose love of dogs I talk about in one of my Five Minute Memoirs, "That Joy") adopted her from a rescue org via Petfinder. With Nora frequently in the yard, whether doing zoomies or just sunbathing, I was not surprised Fat Cat stopped walking brazenly across our back patio. I didn’t see him much in the front yard either. 

I supposed the feline had changed his habits in response to the new canine presence, but then our neighbor contacted us: Fat Cat was missing. He hadn’t returned home for a few days. Would we please keep an eye out?

Of course we would. And we did, but time passes so strangely during the pandemic. I intended to check in on Fat Cat’s family after a few days, let them know I hadn’t forgotten him and was still on the alert, when suddenly he had been missing for weeks already. They were cold weeks by Southern California standards, and we’d had a couple of rainstorms, too. Especially with all the coyotes about, I doubted a domestic cat could survive so long on his own, even an experienced outdoorsman like Fat Cat. Sadly, I realized my check-in was going to be more of a condolence call.

A few days ago, I was still getting up the gumption to talk to my neighbors when I saw a Twitter post about someone who found their lost cat after two months. It gave me hope. For a moment I thought it was also a way to start the conversation with my neighbors. “Your cat might still be alive out there, somewhere!” Then I realized it was a pretty tone-deaf comment. While my neighbors would be happy for the person who got their cat back, they wouldn’t be consoled by the wafer-thin hope of having the same good luck. 

Then yesterday I returned home from having coffee with a friend and found the back gate open. Also open: the screen that closes off the driveway entrance to the crawl space under our house. We check our screens fairly routinely, making sure they are secure (rodent management again!). But today, on the driveway in front of the opening, there was a bowl of milk and a tin of cat food. Turns out my daughter and the neighbor had got together to tempt a kitty out from under the house. We all hoped against hope it was Fat Cat.

We had not heard a peep, though our neighbor had heard some meowing at night for a week or so. Nora was the heroine: taking a break from sunbathing, she had nosed around the driveway, either sniffing out, spotting, or hearing a cat hissing weakly at the screen from the inside. Laura helped the neighbor set up the snack at the opening and then took Nora into the house so the cat wouldn’t be scared to exit. Soon a happy text came from the neighbor: the cat had come out, and he was indeed theirs. Fat Cat was no longer fat, but he was home!

Had he been trapped under our house the whole time, or just for the week they heard meowing? Poor guy could see his home through the wire mesh. What did he find to eat in there? Water must have been driven in through the grates during the rainstorms, puddling enough afterward to keep him alive. But how did he get in, when the screens were all in place? I feel a bit guilty, trying to remember if we unthinkingly replaced a dislodged screen around the time Fat Cat went missing, and wondering how we could have missed his meowing and other noises while he was under the house. But I don’t think we did anything wrong.

It’s a stretch to call the crawl space “cozy,” but it remains a mystery how the cat got in. It was the best luck that Nora found him while there was still a chance for a good outcome. He ate three cans of cat food right off the bat after getting home yesterday, starting the work to return to his usual rotund form. He’s going to the vet soon for a check-up, but it appears that Fat Cat, his humans, his neighbors (us!), and our cozy cat mystery got a much-hoped-for happy ending.