Last night I began mentally composing a post that would have begun, “Tonight my heart is breaking …”

Today, I can begin this post with, “I am so relieved …”

Last night, one of my cats ran away. It was late and I had just taken the dog out. When we were coming back inside, suddenly the cat — let’s call him Wild Boy — ran outside. This is extremely unusual behavior. Wild Boy is a cat who loves his comforts. He was once a feral cat and he appreciates the benefits of domestic life. He’s never before tried to bolt the front door. My other cat is a major door-bolter, so I’m accustomed to keeping out an eye for him, but not Wild Boy. Last night, however, Wild Boy not only ran right out the door but off the porch and into the dark before I could even organize my thoughts to say, “Hey, come back here!”

I should mention: both my cats are inside only; Wild Boy has never been in our back yard. Ever.

Here’s the little bugger in his glory:

It was late. I was tired. It was very dark. And, to make the whole experience all the more interesting, our house is surrounded by woods. Not miles and miles of woods but a pretty good little stand of trees with some rocky hills, a creek bed, and lots of uneven places to step when your clambering around in the dark trying to find your lost cat. Naturally, I couldn’t find a working flashlight and, oh did I mention?, Golden Boy is out of town, so I got to embark on this search all on my own.

Initially, I caught a glimpse of Wild Boy but, of course, if I went towards him, he ran away — aren’t cats just the most perverse creatures? I was so frantic, I kept going towards him even when I knew I shouldn’t and the last I saw of him he was disappearing down a hillside and into the creek bed (thankfully dry).

Hysterical doesn’t quite capture my emotions last night. I was guilt-ridden, exhausted, terrified … I spent a long time looking for Wild Boy, a longer time sitting in the kitchen with all the doors of the house open and plates of wet cat food in every doorway, before I finally made myself go to bed. I knew I had to get up and teach in the morning — but, of course, I couldn’t sleep and spent the whole night tossing and turning, imagining all sorts of terrible traumas befalling my little kitty.

In the morning, I searched again but finally had to go teach my classes. I rushed home afterwards and spent more time standing in the yard, calling the cat and wondering what to do. I was a mess.

Then, this afternoon, I finally found him. He was underneath a shed in our back yard. I had looked under it earlier but hadn’t seen him. Imagine my relief. To make a long story short, I was able, after quite a bit of coaxing, to lure him inside and now he’s curled up in his regular spot in the bed — dirty but otherwise unaffected by his big night out.

What do you think he was up to? What do you think made him decide, “Hey, tonight I think I want to go outside for the very first time”? It’s all very strange.

This is one of those experiences that, in retrospect, seems so insignificant. Wild Boy is safe, everything’s ok, nothing to worry about. But, last night, just for a little while, I travelled down that terrible road when you realize that your family is not immune from danger, that the people and animals you love are not immortal, and that you are not infallible. It was a short journey for me, but an instructive one nonetheless.

Wild Boy, I welcome you back, you little pain in my ass adorable baby.