Jack Misses His Breakfast

A Tale of Overthinking

I wait expectantly for the blur of orange to race into the garage and jump onto the feeding shelf. Colby is already there, whiskers-deep in his bowl, but Jack’s side remains vacant.

I step to the back door and yell.

I walk out into the driveway and yell.

I even go back in the house, open the kitchen window, and yell.

No Jack.

Now, I don’t typically fret when one of the cats doesn’t show for a meal. But today my nerves stretch tight as I wait for Jack to appear. Maybe this morning’s high-test coffee is to blame, or perhaps it was the slightly creepy thriller I watched last night that shifts my imagination into overdrive.

I begin to overthink.

Start with a runaway imagination

Our fields are just beginning to grow back after haying, but the grass is tall enough to hide a predator like a fox or coyote. Or a snake.

Do we have poisonous snakes around here?

Doesn’t matter. That random thought now conjures a cobra in my mind, directing its hooded hissy fit at my happy-go-lucky Jack.

We don’t have many trees at the property’s edge, just brushy scrubs in the hedgerow. I wouldn’t consider them a danger zone.

Except, a month ago I saw one of my cats hanging out on a significantly high branch.

Can cats fall out of trees? What if they are chasing squirrels and get carried away as they leap from branch to branch?

One slip, one claw that doesn’t catch, one branch that bends a tad too far and springs back like a catapult could plummet my poor Jack to the earth.

The campground a mile down from us bustles with activity all year round. Big diesel dualies hauling fifth wheels drive in and out of the campground at all hours.

And then there’s the bicycles. Carefree riders pedal past our house, oblivious to any naughty kitties who might dart in front of them on the way home from mousing in the pasture across the road.

Add head games

Like any mom in denial of what her kids get up to, I don’t believe Jack would cross the road.

There’s plenty of land to roam on our side, and surely the cows in the pasture would give a curious cat pause, wouldn’t they?

Still, I have to admit that at least once I witnessed Jack coming up from the road. He looked like a guilty teenager sneaking in after curfew.

I shake my head to dispel the image of a lifeless Jack flattened in the gravel of the road.

By now Colby has finished his breakfast and moved hopefully to Jack’s side of the shelf.

“Oh no, you don’t,” I scold, snatching Jack’s bowl away. “That’s not yours.”

It would serve Jack right to come home to an empty dish.

But in my mind’s eye I see an emaciated Jack wearily dragging himself onto the shelf, only to find evidence of my neglect.

I stash the bowl in the house to save for Jack’s return.

 

One more time I step into the driveway to call and scan.

No Jack.

And wrap up with melodrama

The rest of the family’s vehicles are gone. Everyone has left for the day except me.

Is there a chance someone left a car window open enough for Jack to crawl through? He is forever sitting on the cars, after all.

What if he stole into the backseat of my daughter’s car while she loaded up the crates and boxes of school supplies she was taking to her classroom?

All that gear could easily hide a stowaway.

Images of Jack wandering lost in the school neighborhood war with those of him trapped in a stifling car, his furry little face staring out the window in bewilderment as no one comes to his rescue.

I shake my head again to clear the mounting panic.

I need to get a grip.

I call one last time, “Jack-Jack! Come get your breakfast!”

No Jack.

I can’t wait any longer or I’ll be late to work.

Returning to the house, I gather my lunch, my computer bag, purse and travel coffee mug.

As I load everything into the car, I glance once more at the cats’ shelf.

And there’s Jack, sitting calmly with his tail neatly tucked around his feet.

Waiting for his breakfast.

Are you an overthinker? How do you keep your imagination from shifting into overdrive?

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