Cazzie's Return - InkSpot.Com

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I'm Donna and I'd like to welcome you to my Inkspot! Here you can browse and read my stories. Most of my writing is about my family and friends, and how they helped me through two spinal cord surgeries twenty-three years ago. Surviving tough times can make you appreciate not only the good times but all the wonderful people in your life every day, as well. It is with this deep sense of love, appreciation and gratitude that I write my stories. I hope that you enjoy them, and if so, you'll drop me a note and let me know! Have a wonderful day!

Cazzie's Return

Cazzie’s Return
By Donna Lowich

“Hungry, Caz? Come in.” Every day for the past ten months began with that greeting. Our visitor was a beautiful, buff-colored cat with stocky legs and a feathery tail that arched above his back as soon as he entered our home. So, when he left one Wednesday morning in early December and didn’t come back for his usual afternoon nap, I was worried. My worry increased to panic as one day went into the next. Soon, it was over a week since we had last seen our Cazzie.

Cazzie’s full name is Casper, so named by my husband, Walter, since that evening last February when he showed up at our back door, and sat in a snowstorm waiting for us to notice him. He looked white under the outside light, and was friendly to us when he came inside. Hence, his name.

When Cazzie stopped coming, I was worried that he was injured or sick and couldn’t make his way back home. Walter was more optimistic. “I think someone has taken him in,” Walter assured me. “He’s a great cat. I’m sure someone’s got him.” That was comforting, but I had to be sure.

I called nearby veterinarian offices and was met with the same answer each time, “No, sorry. We’ll call you if we get a cat in that fits that description.”

“If no one brought a cat into the vet for a medical exam, Cazzie wasn’t adopted by anyone,” I sobbed . “I’d better call the shelters and see if they have him.”

Tears blurred my vision as I dialed the phone to the shelter closest to our house. No one answered so I left a message to call me. The return call never came.

Still, I couldn’t give up. I dialed the next-closest shelter a few miles away. The kind voice on the other end of the phone was reassuring. “I don’t think we have a cat with that description. But, if we do I’ll give you a call.”

I gave her my information, hung up and had a good cry. Things were looking bleak. It was almost Christmas and what I wanted was a Christmas miracle. I had been praying for Cazzie’s safety but now began praying for his safe return.

The only avenue left to me was to keep trying to reach someone at the first shelter, so I continued to call. I left numerous messages, but nobody called me back.

On the fourteenth day since Cazzie disappeared, Walter took a day off from work to go Christmas shopping. “I’ll stop at the shelter on the way home,” he promised.

In mid-afternoon, I received the call I had been waiting to get. Walter gave me all the details of his shopping exploits, and then his voice changed. “I stopped by the shelter on the way he began. His voice brightened when he said, “I found him.”

I gasped and repeated, “You found him? He’s at the shelter? Is he OK?”

Walter laughed at all my questions that just tumbled out of me. “He’s fine. They are treating him for a slight cough, but he’s OK. He’s not ready to be adopted yet.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. Cazzie was coming home!

I said a prayer of thanks for giving me my Christmas present a bit early. No matter what else happens this Christmas, my favorite gift will be the one that comes wrapped in blonde fur and a big feathery tail that will arch high over his back when he comes home again, this time for good.

That was not the end of the story, not quite yet.

Several days later, Walter headed out to the shelter. I stayed at home, ready for the newest member of our family, getting ready for Christmas. The phone rang; I fully expected it was Walter telling me he had officially adopted Cazzie.

I was right; it was Walter. However, his voice was serious; I hadn’t expected that: “Hi, Donna. Cazzie’s not here…” his voice trailed off.

“What happened?”

“I’m not sure. He’s not here. They told me he was adopted.”

We were devastated by the news, but hopeful that Cazzie was in a good, loving home. But somehow, the knowledge that Cazzie would never come back to our house, where he felt comfortable, was fed and was loved, was something that I couldn't forget.

Christmas and New Year's came and went, and it all the more reminded me that Cazzie, my prized Christmas gift, wasn't here; it weighed heavily on my mind.

"Do you think I should call the shelter just one more time? Maybe they can take my name and number and pass it on to the people who adopted Cazzie, in case they want to know anything about him."

"I think you're just going to get yourself upset if you do that." Walter always accepts things at face value, something I find very difficult to do.

"Yeah, I guess you're right." I agreed, reluctantly.

I looked over at the phone, and stared at it just long enough to mentally put my plan into action. I wasn’t going to accept that Cazzie was adopted without making that call, just in case his new family had questions. I practiced the message that I was going to leave on the answering machine in my head several times, and then I dialed the phone.

I was shocked when someone picked up the phone. Momentarily stunned, I tried to remember the message I was going to leave on the machine.

"I would just like to talk to the people who adopted him," I stammered in conclusion.

The young volunteer who listened patiently through my soliloquy, replied, "Can you hold on a minute?"

I said yes, but I secretly thought it was a ploy to get off the phone.

In a just a few minutes, though, I was proven wrong. She picked up the phone and announced, "He's here."

I could hardly believe what I was hearing.

Once assured that Cazzie was, indeed, back at the shelter, I could barely contain my excitement. I hung up the phone, but not before extracting a promise that they were going to hold him for us until Saturday.

We arrived at the shelter at exactly 1:00 on Saturday, just as the shelter opened,

Walter went to fill out the application form; I went into a small room filled with cages. There, near the window was our Cazzie. One of the volunteers opened his cage, and he jumped out.

"Cazzie!" I couldn't contain my joy. Cazzie responded by walking over to me, brushing against my legs.

Several volunteers helped us get Cazzie in the cardboard travel carrier. He is a big cat, and barely fit in, but he didn’t seem to mind.

Upon our return home, Cazzie casually climbed out of the carrier, and fell asleep on the floor near the heat duct.

As I watched him, I couldn't help but think back to the series of events that took Cazzie away, almost brought him back, and almost kept him from us before bringing him home for good. My prayers were answered; I had my Christmas miracle.

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