Ozzie, the Terrorist Kitty has gone AWOL

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I keep looking out the window.

It doesn’t matter where I am in this house. I gaze out the windows in whatever room I’m in. My primary closet has a window that looks out onto the front porch and the huge front yard beyond. That sounds weird, but the road is more than 100 yards away. Nobody can see me. It’s a lovely view. Our sunroom, which includes the part that holds my book-surrounded cubby, has five large picture windows. Every few minutes, I look outside.

I am looking for Ozzie the Terrorist Kitty.

That is the name he was given when we adopted him last August. The spelling is different, but he is named after the late Ozzy Osbourne, the Black Sabbath lead singer who once bit the head off a rat during a concert. Our Ozzie constantly hunts lizards and birds, has completely taken over the house, and is rambunctious to the point of annoyance.

But we loved Ozzie. He was fearless and affectionate, a purring machine who preferred sitting on top of the couch above our heads when we watched television at night. He slept quietly at the foot of the bed most nights, not making a sound.

We tried to make Ozzie a strictly indoor kitty. He was about four months old when we got him after he had recuperated from an unfortunate entanglement with a few dogs that left him with a broken leg. Ozzie recovered completely. After a few weeks inside, he began to complain vociferously about being strictly indoors. We reluctantly acceded to his demands. Ozzie was nothing if not persistent.

We live in the country, where predators abound, so we keep a close eye on all our critters. The dogs (five at the moment, since I am also keeping the granddogs while my Beautiful Mystery Companion and daughter Abbie are across the Big Pond) are kept in a fenced backyard and are always inside well before dark. Our other cat, Olive, goes out rarely (never now). Ozzie was always easy to find, though he did stray beyond the fence.

Until last Wednesday. I let Ozzie out in late afternoon, planning to retrieve him after an hour or so, a last stroll before dusk. He never returned. That’s why I keep looking out the window.

I did the expected things when he didn’t come back. Asked the neighbors, of whom we have few. Posted it on social media. Combed our property, expecting to find the worst. No sign of Ozzie, good or bad.

Friends have comforted me. A buddy I saw at the gym on Monday, five days after Ozzie disappeared, said her cat was gone for six weeks before showing up one day. Brother Scott said he had a cat that flew the coop for six months before returning. I recalled a time about 40 years ago when Dixie, our beagle, was gone for a similar length of time. I asked Dixie where she had been, but I never got a clear answer.

Olive, our remaining kitty, has been put under house arrest. She likes to go outside for an hour or so, but not longer. She is taking it well so far, content to hang out in my Beautiful Mystery Companion’s closet, avoiding the quintet of dogs (three of ours, two granddogs) that I am caring for while my BMC and daughter Abbie are across the Big Pond on holiday, as the Brits say. They’re a handful but mighty entertaining.

Meanwhile, hope remains. Ozzie is a smart, nimble cat who knows where his home is. He is liable to show up at any time, no doubt a bit worse for wear. In the meantime, I will keep looking out the windows, saying a silent prayer for his safe return.

(To Longview readers: We live on Mackey Road, off Hwy. 259 near Satterwhite Homes. If you happen to spot an orange cat, please call/text me at 903-237-8863. Thanks.)

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