The Orange Samurai

I haven't seen my cat, Dusty, in more than a week. I called him the Orange Samurai, because that's how he lived; he was a ronin when we found him. He wandered the apartment complex, fighting and scrounging. We fed him one day and he never left.

Last week, we had our roof re-done. The noises were loud and obnoxious. Even the snakes were agitated, striking out at anyone who walked too close. I could barely stand to be inside while it was happening, and neither could Dusty. I let him out, and hadn't seen him since.

Sure, I miss him, but in a way, I always expected he'd leave. He's always been his own cat, without a master. He came and went as he pleased, but he always chose to come back. I can kinda relate. I'll be in one place for a good few years, and suddenly one day be gone for no reason and with no explanation. I'll keep the same people in my life only for a short time, then I'm out. You really have to impose to stay with me a long time, and for most folks, that's too much of a bother.

Still, I wish Dusty would come back. I'm waiting for another day when I hear once again the low growls outside of two scrapping cats tearing into each other's fur. Then I'll know that Dusty's back, reclaiming his neglected territory.