Return of the Prodigal Kitty

Now I know that most of you would expect me to be announcing the triumphant return of Colonel Beauregard Sterling Lovell (pictured below).  Sadly that is not the case.

I have grown up with cats most of my life, starting with the infamous but evil Bobb Bookie, and ending my childhood with the B.C. the Lionface.  Bobb Bookie shredded my sucking thumb at an early age and in my Composition class at Iowa State University he was 90% of the reason I received an A in that class.  B.C. the Lionface managed to last from when I was 8 or 9 until a few years after I moved out.  He's currently buried in my parents backyard underneath a Lion statue. 

There were many cats in between those two.  Most ran off, probably to go back to whoever owned them before we acquired them off the streets. One cat, Spike, my Siamese, died of Feline Leukemia, probably God's punishment for my sinful ways if you were to ask the opinion of Pat Robertson.  His half brother was sent away for continuing to spray about the house.  Another was hit by a car- that was my sister's cat whom she never bothered to name before I had to watch it attempt to wreck a car with its head.


After my first son Josh was born, I was given a kitten by a neighbor.  It was all black, except for a small white patch on its chest.  I dubbed him Damien, and that devil cat lived up to his demonic name. I'm convinced he was the reincarnation of the original sinister black cat, Bobb Bookie.  He was one mean ass SOB, and when we moved to Des Moines he went out to an acreage with my ex-wife's aunt and uncle.  He met his maker at the hand of two dogs, both of whom would probably never forget the damage Damien did to them before they finished him off.

Later, after Corwyn was born, we eventually adopted a cat from the Animal Rescue League.  It was part of a group of cats they dubbed the X-men.  This one was named Rogue.  Now normally, I like to name my animals, but I was voted down by the kids and their mother and rogue retained her name.  In our old apartment we let the cat out onto the deck.  Rogue liked to go down onto the downstairs neighbors' grill and then to the ground to run around. (Unlike the Colonel who would only go up to the upstairs neighbors' deck and refuse to come down except when they brought him down through the inside of the building.)  Anyways, she did this often, chasing around squeenies and squirrels and rabbits.  One day she disappeared and we never saw her again.
And of course there is the Colonel, who has spent his time running about the neighborhood, getting nabbed by the next door kennel once before they got to know who he was and where he lived.  And then a few weeks back he disappeared again.  We haven't seen or heard from him since.

Fast forward to earlier this week.  My mom calls me at work.  They got a call at the veterinary hospital she works at from the West Des Moines Animal Shelter. they had found a cat, and scanned it for a microchip that traced the cat back.  Since I was at work, I had my girlfriend call to find out about getting our cat back.  We were saddened to learn that they did not have the Colonel.  I sort of suspected this because I didn't remember having Colonel chipped. The description they gave sounded oddly familiar to me.  After 6 years, Rogue had been rounded up.

Now, with our dog, Gracie, being a puppy, I don't care to introduce another animal into the house unless of course the Colonel finds his way back.  We do miss him.  I texted my ex-wife and let her know of the news of our old cat having shown back up after all these years.  She grabbed my cat carrier yesterday, and today she brought Rogue to her home.  While a bit thinner, Rogue has turned out to be still cuddly and affectionate upon being reunited with her and the boys.  So, while I did not get my cat back yet, our old cat gets to come back to a loving home.  Her she is sleeping on one of the boys' bed with them faking sleeping with her that their mother sent to me earlier this evening: