Missing

Linus stood at the front door of his house and willed his eyes to see as far as they could. The sun was going down and the trees threw shadows that looked like bars across the lawn. Up and down the street, one at a time, his neighbors started turning on their lights. Somewhere out there, his cat, Taxi, was lost.

What if he was cold? Or hungry? Or scared? Taxi slept in bed with Linus every night, curled up by his feet or lying right on Linus’s head. In the morning, as soon as the sun came up, Taxi would start licking Linus with his sandpaper tongue.

What would Taxi do now? He had never been outside before. Ever.

Somehow the latch on the front door had gotten loose, and the spring breeze blew it wide open with a bang. Outside, a garbage truck was backing up and beeping loudly, and a metal trash can fell over and clanked against the sidewalk. Taxi got scared like he always did, but instead of bolting up the stairs and into Mom’s closet, he ran outside.

“He’s a cat,” Dad said gently. “Cats are very smart. He’ll be back.”

Linus couldn’t help the tears from stinging his eyes. Mom drew him in for a hug. “Taxi will find his way back home.”

It was dark out, so even if they could walk around and knock on doors in the neighborhood, it was too late. But now, because of the lockdown, they couldn’t even do that. It already felt like everything he cared about had been taken away.

School was closed. Baseball season had ended before it ever began. He couldn’t visit his best friend, Nick. No movies. No Sky Zone. Their vacation to the Jersey Shore in July had been canceled. No Sunday morning breakfasts at Orem’s Diner.

But losing Taxi was the worst, most horrible feeling of all.

Mom came into his room that night and sat at the end of his bed. She rubbed the two lumps that were his feet under the covers. “Listen, tomorrow morning, early, before anyone else is out,” she said, “we can put on our masks and tape posters up all around the neighborhood.”

Linus felt the tiniest bit of hope growing in his chest.

Linus stood at the front door of his house. The sun was going down. Somewhere out there, his cat Taxi was lost.

What if he was cold? Or hungry? Or scared? Taxi slept in bed with Linus every night, curled up by his feet or lying right on Linus’s head. What would Taxi do now? He had never been outside before. Ever. 

Somehow the latch on the front door had gotten loose. A spring breeze blew it wide open with a bang. Taxi got scared like he always did, but instead of bolting up the stairs and into Mom’s closet, he ran outside. 

“He’s a cat,” Dad said gently. “Cats are very smart. He’ll be back.”

Linus couldn’t keep the tears from stinging his eyes. Mom pulled him in for a hug. “Taxi will find his way back home.” 

It was too dark to go out and look for him. And now, because of COVID-19, they couldn’t even knock on doors and see if anyone had spotted Taxi.  

It felt like everything Linus cared about had been taken away. School was closed. Baseball season had ended before it even began. He couldn’t visit his best friend, Nick. No more Sunday morning breakfasts at Orem’s Diner. 

But losing Taxi was the worst, most horrible thing of all. 

Mom came into his room that night and sat at the end of his bed. “Listen, we’ll start tomorrow morning, early before anyone else is out,” she said. “We can put on our masks and tape posters up all around the neighborhood.”

Linus felt the tiniest bit of hope growing in his chest.

A few blocks away, Mr. Samson sat at his window. There wasn’t much else for him to do. In fact, there wasn’t anything else for him to do. He was supposed to be in California with his daughter and her husband by now. They were about to have their first baby, a daughter, his first grandchild.
But with the pandemic, he couldn’t go anywhere.

His daughter had sent him a computer so they could “visit” online. He took it out of the box and plugged it in. It made noises and lit up. There was a keyboard and little images and places to type things in. He followed all his daughter’s instructions, but he never could get the internet part to work. Finally, he just gave up.

“We still can talk on the phone, sweetie,” he told his daughter. But really, what did he have to talk about anyway?

He hung up the phone, walked back to his chair by the window, and sat down. The grass was coming back to life and the trees were unfurling little green offerings to the sky. He lifted the window and let the warm breeze blow in. But what was that loud whining sound? It wasn’t a crow. The chatter of a squirrel, perhaps?

Mr. Samson pushed himself up from his chair, leaned out onto the ledge, and looked down. Sitting there on the wet grass, gazing up at him, was a little lost cat.

A few blocks away, Mr. Samson sat at his window. There wasn’t much else for him to do. In fact, there wasn’t anything else for him to do. He was supposed to be with his daughter and her husband by now, in California. They were about to have their first baby, a girl.

His daughter sent him a computer so they could “visit” online. He took it out of the box and plugged it in. He followed all his daughter’s instructions, but he never could get the internet part to work. Finally, he just gave up.

“We still can talk on the phone, sweetie,” he told his daughter.

But really, what did he have to talk about anyway? Because of COVID-19, every day seemed the same.

He hung up the phone, walked back to his chair by the window, and sat down. The grass was coming back to life. He lifted the window and let the warm breeze blow in. But what was that loud whining sound?

Mr. Samson pushed himself up from his chair, leaned out onto the ledge, and looked down. Sitting there, gazing up at him, was a little cat.

By 8 a.m., Linus and his mom had put up 25 posters all over the neighborhood. They had the most recent picture of Taxi, one that showed his face up close. You could see his coloring and the little furry beard he had under his chin.

LOST CAT.

“Now,” his mother said, “someone is sure to see Taxi, see this poster, and call our number.”

Linus was not so sure. Besides, everything seemed so strange. Their street would normally have been crowded with people, kids going to school, moms and dads going to work.

The playground at the corner was empty. The swings rocked back and forth in the wind like they were lonely too.

That morning his mom’s cell phone rang twice while Linus was sitting at the dining room table for his online fifth-grade school day. Each time he sprang up to see who it was; both times he fell. Once getting his feet tangled in his chair, the second time tripping on the rug.

Neither call was from someone who had found Taxi. 

By 8 a.m., Linus and his mom had put up 25 posters all over the neighborhood. LOST CAT they said. They had the most recent picture of Taxi. You could see the little furry beard he had under his chin. 

“Someone is sure to see Taxi,” his mother said. “Then they’ll see this poster and call our number.”

Linus was not so sure. Besides, everything seemed so strange. Normally the street would have been crowded with people. 

Now, even the playground at the corner was empty. The swings rocked back and forth in the wind. The swings looked lonely too. 

Later, his mom’s phone rang twice while Linus was sitting in the dining room. That’s where he did his schoolwork now. Each time, he sprang up to see who it was. Neither call was from someone who had found Taxi.

The cat outside Mr. Samson’s window was still there the next morning. He looked too sweet to be a stray. He must be hungry, Mr. Samson thought. He went to his cabinet, found a can of tuna, and forked some onto a saucer. He hoped the cat wouldn’t be gone by the time he got outside. When he opened his door to the side alley, the cat was still there, as if he were waiting for him.

Mr. Samson walked slowly so he wouldn’t scare the cat, but the critter walked right over, rubbed himself against Mr. Samson’s leg, and started purring loudly.

“Here you go, little kitty,” Mr. Samson said, setting the dish of food on the grass. The warm sun felt good on his face. Mr. Samson hadn’t been outside for weeks. Not really. Just to walk to the corner and get the mail, maybe wave across the street to a neighbor or two. His groceries were delivered. He didn’t even go to Orem’s Diner for Sunday breakfast anymore.

But now out here, where the robins were cheerfully bouncing everywhere and this little lost cat was licking the last bit of tuna from the plate, Mr. Samson’s heart cracked wide open. He missed his daughter and now he was going to miss seeing his granddaughter’s face when she came into this beautiful world. 

The cat had finished eating and was weaving in and out between Mr. Samson’s feet. When Mr. Samson reached down to pick up the plate, a little wet nose nuzzled against his face and the purring sounded like a car engine. 

“I bet you miss your family, don’t you?” Mr. Samson said. He stroked the little tuft of hair that grew under the cat’s chin. “I think I’m going to call you Mr. Beard.” 

Mr. Samson couldn’t help but smile when the cat suddenly flopped down and asked for a belly rub.

“I miss my family too,” Mr. Samson said quietly.

Then someone down the street was hollering for a taxi, which made no sense. There weren’t any taxis in this neighborhood. Mr. Samson stood up and took a peek around the corner. That’s when he saw the poster taped to a telephone pole.

LOST CAT, it said. 

It was Mr. Beard.

The cat outside Mr. Samson’s window was wearing a collar, but the tag was missing. He must be hungry, Mr. Samson thought. He found a can of tuna and forked some onto a saucer. He hoped the cat wouldn’t be gone by the time he got outside. When he opened his door to the side alley, the cat was still there, as if he were waiting for him.

Mr. Samson walked slowly so he wouldn’t scare the cat. The cat walked right over and rubbed against Mr. Samson’s leg. 

“Here you go, little kitty,” Mr. Samson said, laying the dish of food on the grass. The warm sun felt good on his face. Mr. Samson hadn’t been outside for weeks. Not really. Just to step out and get the mail, maybe wave across the street to a neighbor or two. His groceries were being delivered. He didn’t even go to Orem’s Diner for Sunday breakfast anymore. 

But now out here in the sun, with the birds singing, Mr. Samson’s heart cracked wide open. He missed his daughter. He was going to miss seeing his granddaughter’s face when she came into this beautiful world. 

The cat had finished eating. When Mr. Samson reached down to pick up the plate, a little wet nose nuzzled against his face.  

“I bet you miss your family, don’t you?” Mr. Samson said. He stroked the bit of fur that grew under the cat’s chin. “I think I’m going to call you Mr. Beard.”  

Mr. Samson couldn’t help smiling when the cat suddenly flopped down and asked for a belly rub. 

“I miss my family too,” Mr. Samson said quietly.

Then someone down the street was hollering “Taxi! Hey, Taxi!,” which made no sense. There weren’t any taxis in this neighborhood. Mr. Samson stood up and looked around the corner. That’s when he saw the poster taped to a telephone pole.

LOST CAT it said. The photo on it showed a cat that looked very familiar. 

It was Mr. Beard. 

Ten minutes later, Taxi felt himself being swooped up into Linus’s arms. Usually, a squeeze this tight would make him squirm, but not now. Now, he was happy to just be held and listen to the world going on around him. There was a lot of talking and calling out from the sidewalk to the alley where he had just eaten a delicious meal.

There were some words Taxi recognized: Computer. Help. Linus. Mom. Dad. Kitty. And some new words: Mr. Samson. Mr. Beard—that was a funny one.

And a couple he had always known: Home. Family.

Two days later, Linus and his mom and dad were crowded together at the dining room table. The three of them were peering at the computer screen. Three blocks away, Mr. Samson’s computer was up and running. And 3,000 miles away, Mr. Samson’s daughter was holding her new baby up to her computer. And they were there all together. At the very same time. 

“She’s so cute,” Linus’s mom said.

Mr. Samson’s daughter leaned in to her screen. “I cannot ever thank you enough for helping my dad with his computer.”

“We didn’t really do anything,” Linus’s dad told her. “All it took was a call to the cable company.”

“I’m so glad we can all be together,” Linus’s mom said. 

“It was all because of Taxi,” Linus chimed in. 

Mr. Samson said, “Yes, that’s one very special cat.”

Taxi was curled up asleep in Linus’s arms. At the sound of his name, he lifted his head. His ears twitched, and if a cat could smile, Taxi did.

Two days later, Linus and his mom and dad were crowded together at the dining room table, the three of them peering into the computer screen. Three blocks away, Mr. Samson’s computer was up and running. And 3,000 miles away, Mr. Samson’s daughter was holding her new baby up to her computer. And they were there all together. At the very same time.

“She’s so cute,” Linus’s mom said.

Mr. Samson’s daughter leaned in to her screen. “I cannot ever thank you enough for helping my dad with this,” she said.

“We didn’t really do anything,” Linus’s dad told her. “It was just a frayed cable line that had come unattached from the house. Probably a mouse or something chewed it. It happens all the time.”

“Well, whatever it was,” Mr. Samson’s daughter said, “if you hadn’t been there to see it, we wouldn’t be all together now.” The baby had fallen asleep in her arms, making a little cooing sound.

“And it was all because of Taxi,” Linus chimed in.

Taxi was asleep in his bed, curled up with his face nestled in his tail. At the sound of his name, he lifted his head. His ears twitched, and if a cat could smile, Taxi did.