Bringing Home The Gold

Oh my gosh, the past few days have been quite a roller coaster of Olympic-sized emotion.

What a heartbreak to see poor, sweet Jordan Wieber fail to qualify for all-around competition in women's gymnastics.

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While he certainly has earned his share of glory over the years, I was shocked and stunned to see the tall and mighty Mr. Michael Phelps get shut out of the medals stand in the 400 IM.

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And even though Team USA's women's beach volleyball duo continues their string of perfect victories into their third set of Olympic games, I am on the edge of my seat every time they play, biting my nails throughout their flawless matches.

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But what really sent my stress levels rocketing today was this little fella:

Cedric, one of my three furry (year-and-a-half-old) kittens, went missing.

He went outside to play late on Monday afternoon, and did not come back during the evening, as he normally does. This is not necessarily shocking behavior, but still out of the norm. Typically, we expect to find an out-all-night kitten at the back door by sun-up. Once day breaks, our little midnight wanderers are usually very anxious to get back to the food bowl and a nice soft pillow. 

Not this morning. After a flurry of phone calls and texts to all the family members, we realized that Cedric had not returned. Hmm. Unsettling.

Our vague concern amplified into full-blown distress when we hit the 24-hour mark. At that point, we were openly searching for him, and trying not to voice our growing fears.

This is the absolute worst part of having cats. I will always give my cats the freedom to go outside when they choose. They were created to hunt and play and lounge in the fresh air of the big, wild world, and I won't deny them that freedom.

But the minute I open that door, and let them slink past me, prowling out into the vast unknown, I recognize that I have lost control over them. Cats are smart, instinctive, clever animals, and I trust mine to make good use of their nine lives. Yet in Suburbia 2012, the odds are stacked against them. As I watched the clock and the back door today, I shuddered to think what my baby Cedric might be dealing with. 

Happily, on Tuesday evening at around nine p.m. tonight, little mister finally showed his handsome face at the back door. He was given a hero's welcome, a full bowl of food which he chomped down in record time, and a lot of loving from his very relieved family.

For the rest of the evening, Team USA's troubles seemed small. The women's gymnastics team and the men's swimming relay both achieved the ultimate success in their endeavours, and I'm very happy for them.

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But as my adventuresome cat sat purring on my lap, I realized that Cedric, with his triumphant return, is the one who really brought home the gold for me.