I have discovered something amazing. That old adage about cats having nine lives is true! Sort of.
I have a cat named Spunky. Yesterday, Spunky escaped the house, ran into the street, and was hit by a delivery truck. I was devastated.
I buried Spunky out by the oak tree she loved to climb so much. I spent the rest of yesterday in a daze, wondering what I was going to do without my Spunkster.
But this morning, Spunky was back. I know it was Spunks because she came when I called.
See, I woke up and there was a cat sitting on the large exposed roots of the oak tree. It was black and white, so I thought it must have been a friend coming to pay respects to Spunky, who was an orange tabby.
But, when I opened the door, I was choked up and all I got out was “Spunky” and the black and white cat came running. She trotted into the house and went straight for Spunky’s bowl of food. Amazed at the coincidence, I called her name three or four more times. She responded by looking at me and purring at me each time!
So, I know that Spunky’s back. She’s just different now.
UPDATE: I decided to test my theory on cat’s nine lives. So, I put poison in Spunky’s food. She died again. This time, when she came back, she was a tortoise-shell long-hair. She was mad at me for a bit, like she knew I killed her.
UPDATE 2: I had to do it again. Just to make sure. This time, I threw her in the pond, weighted down with a couple of cinder blocks. Sure enough, she came back. This time, she’s entirely black. Spunky is most definitely mad at me now.
UPDATE 3: I think Spunks is watching me. All the time. She knows I’ve killed her. She sniffs her food for ten minutes before taking a bite, now. She also won’t go outside anymore. When I get close, she swipes at me with her claws. May have to kill her again to save myself.
UPDATE 4: Meow! Human is gone. They, interestingly enough, don’t have nine lives. ~Spunky~