Clyde by Katherine Peacock

Clyde

After the kiddos go to bed at night, I normally sit on the back porch and read or write. At some point I am always greeted with a long drawn out “meow” with a hint of a southern accent. I’ll look up & there is Clyde, peering over the edge of the roof. How he gets up there I have no idea. He’ll rub his cheeks against the edge, inviting me to come join him. When he accepts the fact that his invitation is denied, he’ll make the 8 ft. drop onto the patio & jump in my lap to have the backs of his ears scratched.

My husband Peacock used to have a cat named Angel, who had a litter. Peacock gave all the kittens away to friends. One of his friends took two. A couple of years ago, the friend wasn’t interested in caring for the two cats anymore. Renamed Sketchy & Clyde, we welcomed them back to the home where they were born.

It didn’t take long for Clyde to adjust to his new home life, but he never got comfortable with the dogs. He always made a wide birth around Holly or Delia when they were napping on the floor.

However, Clyde was also a murderous criminal. True to his namesake, the outlaw from the 1930’s, I found him committing murder time and time again, and on several occasions chewing the heads off squirrels & birds. You can imagine my delight one morning when I walked out to the back porch, and a half-eaten rat greeted me. Take note: not a mouse, a straight up rat (cue shivers). Not in the least bit happy about it, I left him to his prey.

We’ve always had a few cats, and watching them together is always fascinating. For instance, Clyde was very territorial, giving Amos, another defensive cat, a run for his money. On the other hand, Clyde & our one-eyed cat Frodo Baggins wrestled around the house like drunken frat boys, knocking over & running into anything that might be in their path. Victory was always Frodo’s when Clyde had had enough & ran away to groom himself, like his defeat was no big deal.

Clyde’s favorite spot, other than the roof of the house, was perched on top of our Toyota 4-Runner, like a sentinel keeping an eye out for any stray cat invading his turf.

He normally stayed out all night. In the morning, he would reappear for breakfast, then head to a bedroom to sleep the day away. When the clanking of the aluminum bowls signaled dinnertime, he’d eat before heading back out for a night of guard duty.

The last time I saw Clyde was two weeks ago on Friday, April 25th.

He didn’t show up for breakfast that morning, but I didn’t think much of it. He skips breakfast from time to time. I took my eldest daughter Georgia to school, then ran some errands with the baby Annabel. We made it home with just enough time to bring the Target bags inside before we needed to pick Georgia back up from school.

When I walked back out to the car, I heard that signature southern meow, but it was a little different. It was very loud. Looking under the car, there was Clyde, laying down with a stomach so swollen I assumed he had just finished a large meal of some poor animal. He wouldn’t come out, so I strapped the baby in her seat & cranked up the engine. As if shot out of a cannon, he made a bee line for the front door, but stopped short in the grass. Something just didn’t seem right. I picked him up & deposited him inside the house, so he could get a nap. When I got back home from picking up Georgia, I checked on him. Napping peacefully on my bed.

About an hour later, I put Annabel down for her nap &  noticed he had moved to her room, sleeping on her changing table. When the baby woke up from her nap, he was still there. That was the last time I saw him.

I have a habit of leaving the back door open while the mosquitoes aren’t bad, so I don’t know when he left.

We have had 2 other cats disappear. Clyde’s mother Angel and and Amos’s brother Andy. I don’t know what happened to them either, and I hate it because there’s no closure. They just aren’t here anymore.

On the other hand, maybe they are saving me from all the drama that comes when an animal’s life ends. Maybe they are saving me from the heartache of knowing that I can’t help them. These are the things I tell myself to make their disappearances easier to swallow. But the truth is, it still sucks.

I hope that wherever you are Clyde you’re doing ok. I’ll miss you.