I left in the dark. You see, there are lamps out in the parking lot at the bottom of the hill; they just don’t always work. I made my way down to the Dodge cautiously; you see, we have receptacles for dog-poop, but our neighbours don’t always use them.

I lucked out; I didn’t step in any mines. I went and picked up Ken.

Well… I went to the store and waited for Ken. There was some kind of problem, so he ran about a half an hour late.  We were both really hungry, so we went to the only place that was open: Taco Bell. By the time we got home, it was close to two o’clock in the morning.

Whenever I come home – it doesn’t matter if I have been gone for two hours or two minutes – Sam, my big boy-kitty, greets me at the door as if I have been away from home for days and days. Our Petite Fleur, Mikey (our tiny girl-kitty with attitude)… well, for her to not greet us at the door was not unusual… But, Sam? Not at the door? That was weird.

We called to him. I let him know that Mommy brought home some leftover steak chalupa for him (The Sam loves Taco Bell). Ken shook the treats canister. He didn’t come.

Ken and I looked at one another, slightly concerned. Our little man always comes running when there is food involved.

We thought that perhaps Sam and Mikey had a dispute. When Mikey gets the better of him, Sam sometimes hides for a while. Ken and I checked under the sofa, under the chairs, under the bed, inside the closets… no Sam.

“He’s gone,” I said. “Must have snuck out when I left to pick you up.” My heart pounded against my ribcage and my mouth went dry. You see, for The Sam, “outside” is a dangerous place. He has no teeth (He had to have them all removed a few years back; it was some kind of a genetic problem.); he can eat cat food okay, but he could never use his mouth to effectively hunt or defend himself. He has claws, but his nature keeps him from using them often, even when fighting with Mikey. Our little man is a lover, not a fighter. Sam is friendly with and never afraid of other animals. I could picture him, out there, alone, trying to make friends with a coyote.

Then, there is the fact that we live on a busy road, where people hit animals all of the time.

The thought of our baby out there…

Ken and I ran outside with the two flashlights, the canister of treats and half of a steak chalupa.

I began to cry. He wasn’t in the parking lot. He wasn’t by the pond. He wasn’t hanging out in the trees, or the shrubs, or the stream. He wasn’t in the back yard.

“Go back inside,” Ken said. “I’ll check the… thing.” He didn’t even want to say, “street.”

“I’m going with you,” I said. If our Sam was dead in the street, there was no way I was going to let Ken deal with that alone.

I stopped crying and followed my husband, praying that we wouldn’t find Sam squished in the road. We walked for about two minutes when I saw something moving on the sidewalk, up at the top of an incline. Something big. And white.

“Sylvia?” I yelled.

Ken said, “What the fuck?” He moved his flashlight toward her. I did the same.

There, in the “spotlight”, were The Sam and the love of his life, Sylvia, the mostly-white American Pit-bull who now lives up the street (She used to live in our apartment complex.).

“Sam!” Ken and I said at the same time. We were happy that he was alive, but angry that he had put us through Hell.

Sylvia dropped her head. I thought she looked kind of guilty when she did that. Then her head came up… and Sam was in her mouth. She’d picked him up by the scruff of his neck.

Sylvia trotted over and deposited my naughty little boy at my feet; she kept her head down, but her beautiful blue eyes looked up into mine, and her tail began wagging. 

Ken and I laughed. “Good girl,” Ken said, and patted her head.

“Good girl,” I echoed, and gave her the leftover steak chalupa.

I picked up Sam. We were about to walk Sylvia home when the couple that owns her came along, walking with their flashlights.

“What the fuck?” the man said.

“Oh, thank God!” The lady laughed.

We explained what had happened. The three of them went their way.

Sam held onto me, his front paws around my neck as he head-butted my chin and purred.

“You broke my heart, you little shit,” I said.

He bumped his nose to mine.

“Yeah, yeah… I love you, too… you little shit.”

Ken patted our little man’s head. “Don’t you ever even think about doing that again, young man. You had your mother worried to death…”