Cheddar Was Never Better

Tom looks like crap. There are no two ways around it.

Not that I would ever say that to his face. I’d probably look the exact same way if my cat was missing, too, which is exactly why I don’t own a cat.

And the fact that Cheddar is missing isn’t even Tom’s fault. It was the building manager who left the door cracked and poof, off went Cheddar on a new adventure. At least, that’s what Tom thinks happened. He’s not completely sure. Cheddar was missing when Tom got home from work.

Technically, Cheddar’s only been gone a few hours. Maybe not even missing. I think he’s around here somewhere. But I’m not going to argue with Tom.

It’s these old buildings they renovate. Lots of spots for pets to explore.

Our building is on the small side. Built in 1927, it originally had twelve luxury townhouse apartments that stretched the full length of each floor; one per side. Now those are split in two, and there are twenty-four units in total. Tom and I live on the top floor across from each other.

Tom had brought Cheddar to my place just last night to investigate a faint scritch scritch sound coming from my bathroom that neither one of us had been able to identify. It’s been driving me crazy since yesterday morning. We spent a solid twenty minutes trying to narrow down the sound which seemed to reverberate throughout the bathroom, bouncing off the cold, tile walls. 

Cheddar had been no help. Tom pointed out that it was probably a good thing; it meant it wasn’t mice or rats. 

Cheddar had been far more interested in a built-in bookshelf in my office filled with all of my books I’d collected over the years, and a cabinet directly below it.

We thought he was on to something. He wasn’t.

Hindsight I wish Tom had left Cheddar with me when he went to work. I work from home, and definitely wouldn’t have left my front door open a crack.

***

Tom drops off some missing flyers of Cheddar. He did a nice job, a sweet picture of the orange tabby’s face. Cheddar’s fat. I’d never tell Tom that but Cheddar could stand to lose a few. I don’t think it’s good for a cat’s legs to be holding up that much weight. Bad for their joints, I’ve heard. But his face is so squeezable. 

I take a handful and promise tomorrow I’ll help put them up. But honestly, I think he’s here. Somewhere. It’s only been half a day. He’s exploring, that’s my guess.

I walk with Tom up and down the hallways, calling for Cheddar, taping up the flyers, talking to neighbors. Everyone knows him, so I’m not worried. He’ll get Cheddar back soon.

But that scritch sound. Obviously not the cat, but also not a mouse or rat. Because, as Tom pointed out, Cheddar isn’t interested. So then, what?

We stop by Margie’s apartment. She lives on the floor below us.

“Margie, I’ve lost Cheddar,” Tom bursts out, thrusting a flyer toward her.

Margie takes the flyer, scanning it. She turns back to Tom, her eyes heavy. “What can I do to help?”

Together we make a plan. It’s Thursday. Tomorrow night, if Cheddar hasn’t surfaced, we’ll reconvene and start an extensive search of the building.

Margie gives Tom tips for the night; leave out food/water, clothing he’s worn with his scent, a cardboard box Cheddar can curl up in - all outside Tom’s door. Everyone will be on the lookout; someone will find him.

Tom nods, and we retreat back to our floor.

I ask him if he wants to come in; it’s early. He declines. Says it’s been a long day; he wants to get everything ready for Cheddar and then probably go to bed.

It’s 7:35pm.

I nod and say goodnight.

Truth is, I don’t want to be alone in my apartment. It’s that noise. The scritch sounds like it’s coming from below the tub. So when I’m taking a shower, I think about it. When I’m taking a bath, I think about it. I sometimes think I hear it, but I can’t be sure.

I know I’ve heard it while I’m sitting on the toilet. 

Brushing my teeth. Scritch

Curling my hair. Scritch

Applying makeup. Scritch

Before this I never had to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. Now I wake up at 2am or 3am, and suddenly think I’m not going to make it until dawn. But the thought of going into the bathroom with bare ankles is terrifying.

Scritch.

***

I didn’t shower Friday. Just made coffee and turned on my computer. Knocking on my front door started before my computer had a chance to warm up.

“Sadie? Sadie!” Tom was there, holding Cheddar and Cheddar’s bag.

I open the door wider to admit both of them. “Where was he? When did he come home?” I ask, taking Cheddar to love on him. Cheddar purrs and softly head butts me.

“Charlotte from 12C brought him to me this morning at 5:45am. He was eating her silver vine, and acting all crazy. According to Charlotte, Margie had already organized a search party for tonight after we left. I had to stop by this morning and let her know Charlotte found him, rooting around in her plants. Anyway, I need to get to work. Can I leave him with you?”

Tom has no idea how happy this makes me, considering I barely slept last night.

“Absolutely. Does he have everything?”

“I think so. My spare key is in his bag in case you need anything from my apartment.” He turns to Cheddar, removing him from my arms. “You are still in big trouble, big boy,” he says affectionately, kissing the top of his head and dropping him to the floor. 

“I think I have that litter box from last summer when he stayed the weekend. I’ll just need to dig it out.”

Tom holds up a finger, and points to the hall. “Litter box and litter are out here. I’ll get them for you.” He turns and gets them both, setting them up for me.

“Ok, well, we’ll see you after work.”

Tom nods. “I’ll check in later. Thank you so much!”

No, Tom, thank you.

***

Cheddar sleeps at my feet. I’m not going to lie, I am much more relaxed with him here. I log in and start to work.

Around 10:20 I stand and stretch, ready for a coffee refill. Cheddar stretches, too. He wanders over to my bookshelf, sniffing. I assume he’s deciding on a novel to occupy his time this afternoon. I head down the long hall to the kitchen. Cheddar quietly trots behind me. I glance nervously toward the bathroom as we pass. Cheddar doesn’t. 

I make myself a plate of grapes and cheese, staring out of the window at deep, gray clouds. The day had started out bright and sunny. I had opened several windows to allow the crisp October air to fill my apartment, but had quickly shut them with Cheddar’s arrival. No escaping cats on my watch.

Something touching my leg causes me to jump. I look down. Cheddar winds around me, looking up affectionately. He springs vertically, lands on the counter. I remove the grapes and cheese. Grapes are bad for cats. I’ve learned a lot since Cheddar moved next door.

“No grapes for you,” I tell him, kissing his head. I give him a tiny piece of cheese; gouda, not cheddar. Don’t tell Tom. It’s probably why he’s fat - neighbors feeding him cheese.

I walk back into the office and begin working. I work thirty minutes before I need to use the facilities. I look to my coffee, then to the office door. Thunder rolls in the distance. Cheddar, curled in a ball in an oversized chair, sleeps soundly.

I wait twenty more minutes until a bolt of lightning followed by a crack of thunder causes me to jump and sends Cheddar scurrying under the table. Rain pelts the windows. 

I can’t wait, the coffee has made its way through my system. I coax Cheddar out from under the table and comfort him. He seems fine, just startled. The sheer ferocity of the storm has caught him off guard.

I start to carry him to the bathroom with me, but decide that’s weird. I put him down hoping he’ll follow. He doesn’t. He makes his way down the hall and back into the office.

I turn toward the bathroom. The hall is darker with the storm raging. Lightning creates a strobe effect as I continue. I glance behind me, hoping Cheddar changed his mind. He didn’t.

I reach around the doorframe to turn on the light. My hand slaps the tile, feeling for the light switch. I find it. I leave the door open for Cheddar, in case the noise is back and he wants to investigate. 

 I yell for Cheddar. He doesn’t come.

I sit, trying to finish as quickly as possible. 

Scritch Scritch

I barely finish, scritch

flush, scritch

wash, scritch

 run.

I trip over Cheddar as I'm coming out of the bathroom, landing on the floor, in a heap. Cheddar lets out a howl and runs for the office. 

No more liquids.

***

Tom shows up at 5:45pm, as soon as he could get off of work. I’m glad he’s here. Now I can go to the bathroom again. 

The storm holds its ground, with the howling winds and heavy downpour refusing to let up.

Cheddar is digging at the bookshelf again. He seems interested in reading either The Catcher in the Rye or To Kill a Mockingbird. Those are the two books sitting on the far end the built-in bottom shelf. He’s pawed them down repeatedly. 

He also likes the cabinets the shelf is directly over. I opened it for him earlier. There’s nothing there but a PlayStation 5, controllers, and some games. After a quick sniff, he trotted off. Video games aren’t his thing.

“Any more sounds from the bathroom?”

I nod.

“Want to check it out again?”

I hesitate.

“I can go alone if you want.”

I shake my head. “I’ll come.”

Tom walks ahead, turning on the light. There is no noise. I look behind me. There is no Cheddar. 

“Do you have a flashlight?” Tom asks.

“Uhm… yeah, I think. Maybe in the kitchen.” I leave to see if I can find it, pausing for just a second, straining to hear. A new fear washes over me. Am I making the sounds up? 

I start down the long hallway, then stop.

“Tom?”

“Hmm?” His disembodied voice floats out from the bathroom.

“You’ve heard it, too, right? The scratching sound?”

“What? Yes, I’ve heard it. When I was here before, remember?”

“Yeah, of course.” I choke out a fake laugh. Now I really do sound like I’m losing it. I continue to the kitchen.

I check the drawers; junk drawer, silverware drawer, utensils drawer. None has a flashlight.

I stroll to the office, and notice Cheddar sniffing the bookshelf. I walk to my desk and pull out the drawer. The flashlight is on top. 

A soft thud and hiss stop me in my tracks. I turn to see Cheddar in a classic Halloween pose - spine curved like a drawn bow, tail spike with fur on end. I track his frantic swings, desperate to see the threat, but there’s nothing there.

I yell for Tom, backing out of the room. I stop in the doorway.

“Cheddar! Cheddar! Come here!”

Tom lands by my side and sees what I’m witnessing.

“What’s going on?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

Cheddar climbs into the cabinet with the PlayStation. Tom rushes to it, and kneels down. Cheddar is gone.

***

Tom is on his knees peering in the cabinet. “I don’t understand. He was just in here.”

I shrug. “I don’t know, Tom. Take everything out.”

I can hear scratching and clawing in the walls. It isn’t the same as the scritch but pretty close. Are they rats? Mice? Ghosts? I shudder involuntarily. 

Tom has set the PlayStation and accessories to the side and is halfway in the cabinet. 

“I don’t see anything.”

He scoots back out. He takes the flashlight, shining it inside. “A piece of the backing is bent a little.” He hands me the flashlight. “Can I pull on it?”

I nod, holding the flashlight steady. 

He pulls gently and it doesn’t take anything at all for the particle-board back to make enough room for something like a cat to slip through.

 Tom turns to me, simultaneously delighted and horrified.

“Where does this lead?”

I shrug.

Tom sits back against the cabinet. 

“Do you think it leads to the bathroom?” I ask hesitantly.

Tom looks at me. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He slowly gets up, and walks down the hall to the bathroom doorway.

I walk up next to him and we stand, side by side, listening.

Scritch scritch

Shuffle, scoot scoot

A loud, high-piercing yowl causes Tom and me to jump.

Pfft pffft

Shuffle shuffle

“It’s going that way,” Tom whispers, pointing back toward the office.

I nod, turn and follow him back down the hall into the room.

The sounds are faint. We try to track them but can’t, they fade into the sounds of the storm.

We stand together, observing the office cabinet from a short distance. 

The particle board twitches, moving to and fro as though preparing to give birth. And then it does. Out comes Cheddar, breech, with something in his mouth.

I grab Tom’s arm as he moves forward. He pauses only a second before shaking loose and slowly approaches his cat.

“Cheddar? What is it? What have you got there?”

I can almost hear Tom swallow as I pull up behind him, somewhat afraid to look.

It is small and grey and dusty and round and it isn’t moving.

I dig my nails into Tom’s arm as a warning.

Lightning and thunder simultaneously light the room and shake it mercilessly with a sudden, chaotic clap.

I jump and scream. Tom grips my arm.

The thing Cheddar is holding opens its eyes.

Cheddar walks calmly to us as we stand, frozen. He deposits the specimen at our feet, and sits, licking his paws. Tom holds out his arms as I peer around. The specimen looks up and sneezes.

“It’s… a kitten.”

Tom kneels down and scoops it up into his hands, turning to face me. He holds it out for my inspection. 

“Oh, wow. What do you think happened?”

Tom shrugs. “I have no idea. A mother cat had a litter and they all dissipated and somehow this one ended up here, maybe? I don’t know.”

“It needs a vet. How old do you think it is?”

Tom thinks. “Not sure. Six weeks, maybe? There’s a vet on Dover that’s open until 9pm.”

I smile. “Let me get my shoes and purse.” I grab a Halloween baby blanket I bought for a friend’s baby shower coming up. I tear off the tags and turn toward Tom.

“Hand it to me,” I say, my arms outstretched, covered with the blanket.

He does, and I pull the kitten close.

“Hello, you.”

“Will you keep it?” Tom asks as we make our way with the two cats to the door. 

“I might.”

“Will you name it Scratchity? You know, for the sound?”

I laugh. “No. Are you coming with me to the vet?”

Tom nods.

“You'll need a name.”

"We don’t know if it’s a boy or girl.”

“Assuming it’s a boy,” Tom said, “will you name him Thunder? Or Storm?”

I look down at it, this little ball of dusty, gray fur staring up with big eyes.

“I think I’ll call him Harold.”