[image title=”Kat Johnston: Box kitteh… Is she alive? Is she dead? You’ll only know if you ignore the ‘do not disturb’ sticker!” size=”large” id=”1289″ align=”center” alt=”Kat Johnston: Box kitteh… Is she alive? Is she dead? You’ll only know if you ignore the ‘do not disturb’ sticker!” linkto=”viewer” ]

Lord I am tired tonight… and I’m not even entirely sure why. I guess that some days are just long, and when they are, they bear down on you, making you feel worn and weary. That aside though, I’m very happy with my sketch today! A little while back, I did a picture with a scrawled cat… it was the last thing drawn on the sketch and honestly, my favourite part of it. So today, I had another peek at that sketch and thought, ‘yup… I’m going to try this again.’

I did-so, and today’s picture is the result. It is by little wonder that my picture reminds me so much of my darling Lolita, a little tortie cross who is one of two apples of my eyes. Penny, being the other, is not currently pictured.

You see, each night before he goes to bed, my dutiful husband does a round of the house. He makes sure that the doors are locked, that the air-conditioning is off (if indeed it were on on the first place), and so on and so forth. One of the other things he does is check to make sure that both cats are around and safe. We have indoor-only cats, and although there is very little chance that they have somehow performed the great escape, it never hurts to check.

One evening, he does his regular rounds, calling out to the cats to make sure that they are safe and secure like the rest of us. ‘Lolita!’ he calls, ‘Lolita, baby-girl, where are you?’

This goes on for a couple of minutes… then a couple more. After which, he comes racing down the stairs. ‘I can’t find Lolita!’ he cries, his eyes wide and gripped by a certain paternal fear. ‘Come help me look!’

Thus, I join the search. From high to low, from top to bottom, in every perceivable nook and cranny we search to discover the missing feline. She had me quite as mystified as she did James. With a rising panic I realize that it does indeed seem that our magnificent moggy had finally discovered a special secret way known only to cats to teleport from one part of the room to another, but further, how to do it to the outside.

How would she survive? She had no opposable thumbs, no pre-prepared sachets of food designed ‘for pet consumption only’ strapped to her bluish back. She had, of course, wrestled a gecko or two in her day, but that was nothing when put beside the territorial neighbourhood tom.

With a sigh of resignation and no small measure of puzzlement, we were almost ready to admit our defeat. Our cat had somehow escaped, despite all odds of both means, opportunity and brain-matter. ‘One last time,’ murmurs James. The search begun anew.

A bare few minutes later, I hear an exuberant cry. ‘She’s in here! I found her! Come look!’ he bellows, motioning frantically, as I approach the downstairs door. There, curled in the bottom of one tall box, lay our cat, quite content to nap while all around her we scramble in search of her. She had not only jumped into the box – she’d pulled the lid closed after her, effectively sealing her off from view in a place we would not think to look. I mean, we know she liked boxes… we just weren’t quite sure she was smart enough to work out how to put up her own little ‘do not disturb’ sign!

If you’re curious about the title of today’s post, and don’t get it straight away, perhaps you haven’t heard of Schrodiinger’s cat? Go check it out. It’ll boggle your miiiind.