Yellow is the saddest color

It finally feels like summer here in Chicago. After a cold and wet June and July, ninety-degree days remind us of why people used to abandon the city. There are few things more dispiriting than summer heat radiating off of scorched pavement.

And, in this heat, a door was left open too long. Our cat Yellowboy is gone. I've plastered the neighborhood with fliers, walked the alleys in the wee hours and called all the shelters. I even visited the city shelter, a very melancholy place--a dump for unwanted animals. Last night, a teenager came to the door. He said that a yellow cat was hit by a car nearby. His family called "the vet," which I presume was really Animal Control, who came and got the cat. There's no way to confirm the story, or to even if it was Yellowboy. The city is not forthcoming with information, and seeing the enormous volume of animals housed at the shelter, I can understand why.

I am somewhat resigned to never seeing him again. So, here is Yellowboy's eulogy. He was a good cat. (Well, most of the time. Two weeks ago, he snuck an entire bbq chicken breast off of the counter.) When I came home from work, he greeted me. Cynics might say it was a plea for food, but he did so even when he had already been fed. He jumped on a chair near the door, and stood on his hind legs, his paws on my chest. His purring was ecstatic. It was flattering to have someone be that excited about my arrival.

Yellowboy loved dried apricots, and could hear a bag of them being opened from across the house. He enjoyed sitting in laundry baskets and boxes. He was also a direct communicator. One technique for rousing my husband for breakfast: gently gnawing on his toes. When he wanted to go on the back porch, he would start out meowing loudly, gradually rounding his catlips until the cry resembled the howl of a coyote. It was very annoying. I wish I could hear it again.

UPDATE

We found him. He had become entangled in a neighbor's central air-conditioning wiring and electrocuted. From the look of the body, he had only been dead a few hours, which makes it especially hard. Cats will sometimes hunker down when frightened. We both were in the alley behind that house half a dozen times, day and night, calling him. He must have been too terrified to even answer us.

He was a good little soul, and I will miss him terribly.