Dana has a cat named Figment. He's named Figment after the old Disney character, the dragon; not Puff.
Most of the time, little Figment is the perfect description and definition of what it is to be a cat. He's lovable, frisky, soft, warm, fuzzy, cute, and he loves to play.
About once a month, Figment has a problem. Dana has to let him out for the night for certain fear of her life.
Why would this be? What harm can tiny little Figment do?
About a year ago, Dana went wilderness camping. She couldn't bear to leave her little boy, Figment, in the care of anyone else for the time that she would be gone, and thus loaded up little "Fig-a-muffin" in his cat carrier, and look him along.
Cats not being very fond of cat carriers and car rides, the first few hours of driving was almost like riding in a fire engine with all the caterwalling and yowling coming from the back seat and the cat carrier.
Eventually, feeling he'd put on a good enough show and display of his displeasure and unhappiness at being forcibly transported and kitnapped against his will to unknown destinations, Figment settled down for the long ride, and took to napping, with the occasional yowl of discontent just to make sure Dana was paying attention and knew how much he didn't like this new accommodation.
Once settled at camp, Figment was overwhelmed with the wilds of the forest. He was restrained in a cat harness and leashed to a tent stake set in the ground, but this didn't debilitate him much as he'd been harnessed before and was well past conspicuous displays of panting, and making an evident show that his legs suddenly stopped working while tied up to this contraption.
Figment spent his time poking about, and peering in wide eyed amazement at the vast spectacle of everything around; the new sounds, unfamiliar smells, and the crunchy new bugs he could catch and chew on, spit out and bat around.
The next morning, Figment was missing.
Figment had slipped his harness.
Dana and her friends called and searched for little Figment for two days. On the morning of the third day, Figment returned to the camp, dirty, with matted and knotted up fur cluttered with bits of sticks and other forest refuse. There was a long gash down one of his sides and he limped a bit.
Dana and her friends cut the camping trip short and went back home.
Figment was cleaned up, given the added indignity of a bath, and to heap misfortune upon indignity, taken to the vet.
Other than some slight roughing up, Figment was fine.
A month later, approaching dusk, Figment began to act uncharacteristically panicky, hostile, and standoffish. He would run headlong into the door leading outside and scratch and claw at it furiously, looking back all the time in hopes of letting Dana get the hint that he needed out.
Dana really had no choice but to let him out. He'd healed up perfectly and one couldn't tell he'd been in a bad scrape in the forest the month before.
That night, strange sounds were heard throughout the apartment complex and city neighborhood; panicked dogs yipping and screaching into the night, followed by the soulful cry of a lonely wolf running with the full moon.
It was reported in the morning news that a child in the neighborhood had been kidnapped in the night, straight from their bed and was missing.
Figment was found on the porch that morning by Dana, looking content, extremely well fed, fat and as happy as a cat could be, if not happier.
Copyright 2008 Matt Marquis
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