Tux is no longer with us. He's passed on. He hasn't joined the choir invisible just yet, but he's just made it abundantly clear that he wants absolutely no part of us, the farm, or, for all intents and purposes, most of Southern Manitoba.
When we first got Tux, we fixed him up a nice place in the garage. He had food in abundance, a nice warm bed, and a litter box placed conveniently nearby. I knocked out a board at the bottom of the door so that he could come and go as he pleased. Apparently, he pleased to go, because he wasted no time booking it down the road to the neighbor's house.
That evening, he came back, crying. Hungry and tired, he ate ravenously and fell asleep on my lap while I petted him. In order to prevent him leaving again during the night, I put the board back on the door and we locked him in the garage overnight.
(Note: Tux does not like being locked up. He yowls. But not just any sort of yowl; these are anguished cries of abject suffering and agony. To hear him cry, one would have thought that we were torturing him, or that the Apocalypse was upon us, or that Montana's was no longer offering their delicious Antojitos. Yes, he really sounded that upset.)
The next day, we let him out again. Without even looking back over his shoulder to offer a consoling tail-flick in our direction, he headed straight for the road and marched resolutely off in the direction of the neighbor's. I followed him, picked him up, brought him back. He let me pet him for a few minutes, before setting off again down the road, yowling all the way.
On the advice of the neighbor, we decided that the best way to get Tux to stay would be to lock him up in the garage for a few days. She assured us that he wouldn't try to leave again after he was sufficiently used to his surroundings.
Thinking that it was for his betterment, we steeled ourselves to his crying and kept him locked up for three days, allowing him outside only when supervised and leashed. During this time, I petted him, brushed him, and even took him out on a leash. Friendly as ever, he enjoyed the petting, yowled pitifully at the injustice of it all, and nearly choked himself trying to get down the road to the neighbor's.
After three days of careful pampering, I thought it might be time to take him off of the leash. We've done everything imaginable for him, I reasoned. Surely he'll stay.
Apparently, Tux didn't appreciate any of the effort, time, or care that we offered. As soon as the leash was off, he headed straight down the driveway, turned left, and kept on going. The only difference this time was an added note of urgency in his gait. I guess he was pining for the fjords.
All to say, we are again in the market for a cat. Hopefully, the next one will perhaps be a bit more appreciative, and a bit less transient.
9 years ago
