Sometime in the 10 day chaos that followed my mom’s death and preceded my son’s wedding, Echo disappeared.  I wish I could say exactly when I saw him last during that week, but chaos aside, barn cats don’t seem to work in specific time units. Steve, Echo, Tiger, Miracle, Bob ~ they all wander ~ in, out, around the property, across the dirt road in front of our house, through the corn fields that surround us…it’s their thing, this wandering. Steve has even been known to “disappear” for two or three days at a stretch.

But for Echo, coming home has also been his thing. He had claimed one of the cat beds as his and slept away entire afternoons tucked into it.  He knew (or it seemed like he knew) exactly when I’d come out in the morning to give everyone breakfast because he’d meet me at the door to the barn. Most of all, though, he knew and loved cat-lap time each evening. 

When the weather is nice, John and I sit in our chairs between the barns at the end of the day and cuddle whatever cat wants to join us. Echo was always there to jump in a lap. Either lap. And it never mattered whether there was already a cat in the lap he wanted. He’d jump up onto the human’s legs and slowly maneuver Miracle or Tiger out of the way. Then he’d lay down, stretch out, and purr. His place, his home. A gentle giant who usually got his way and never had to move fast in the getting of it.

Then, one evening, no Echo for cat-lap time. We called for him, I remember, then shared thoughts about his being out hunting. We were sure he’d be home in the morning. Then as I climbed in the car the next day to drive again to one place or another, I’d realize there had been no Echo that morning. Another day went by, and I began walking our property, calling for him, scanning the roadside for an orange and white body I dreaded to see.  

The day after the wedding, I finally realized how long it had been since I’d seen Echo. Days. Almost a week. My heart hurt, my stomach hurt. I realized that Tiger was walking around the little barn with her ears and tail up, looking, I’m sure, for her brother. She began to spend more time beside me, not wanting me to put her down, relaxing in my arms regardless of what I was doing. Then I noticed that Steve had tucked himself into Echo’s bed. 

I, though, was still searching the fields and roadsides for our gentle giant.  One clear morning, I heard the call of one of the two Great Horned Owls that make their home in the woods near us.  They will eat cats if they’re able to catch them. Echo was never fast.  Then the combines came to harvest the fields around us, and I remember hearing that they kill baby deer when they’re harvesting the fields in May and June. The thoughts were almost more than I could stand. 

Then, after being gone for two weeks, Echo came home. I walked out to the Little Barn in the pre-dawn dark, followed by Miracle and Mittens as usual. I opened the barn door, and there he was, calling for breakfast like nothing had happened.  He wrapped himself around my legs, letting me know that he was home and hungry, and I ran my hands over his fur, checking for injuries, yes, but mainly just so happy to be able to touch him again! He ran ahead of me to the cat food container just as he always had, and the minute I set down his food, he began eating. Later that day, I found him tucked up in his bed, napping the afternoon away.  I’ve no idea what he told Steve. 

I’m still not used to Echo’s being home, but I’m so grateful that he is! There are no wounds, no tufts of fur pulled out, no kink in his tail, and he doesn’t look like he’s lost weight. He’s eating a lot, though, and he’s jumpy, skittering around the Little Barn like he never had done before.  But the minute we sat down last night for cat-lap time, Echo was there. And it was soooo good to have him home!