Dear Goddamned Beagle,
I’m used to scanning my environment at all times these days in preparation for what you have done, what you might do, and what you could have done, but didn’t for reasons known only to you. You might say I’ve become…vigilant. Yes. Vigilant.
So imagine my surprise today when I came out of the shower and found you missing. My bedroom door was closed, and as you haven’t yet, to my knowledge, learned to turn knobs, open doors and then close them behind you, I was taken aback. I was also a little concerned, primarily for my possessions.
I looked on the far side of the bed, under the dresser, in the closet and behind the chair. I looked in the pile of folded laundry I’d left on the chair, and of course I looked under the blankets on the bed. You were nowhere.
I turned back to look in the shower. Perhaps you’d doubled behind me in search of who-knows-what – there is nothing on this planet not worthy of being played with and destroyed in gleeful abandon. A squeak toy. A bath towel. A vacuum cleaner attachment. A sock. They’re all the same to you.
But you were not in the bathroom. You weren’t under the bed or the easy chair, nor were you behind the cushion or under the pillows.
I spread my hands along the covers on the bed again, but they were bereft of beagle. I was mystified.
I sat on the edge of the bed and called you again – I’d called you several times already without a peep in response. Again, nothing, but this time I did hear a quiet rustling. I looked to my left.
Of all your skills, and you have many, I’m impressed once again by your repertoire of comfort. Not content to burrito, you’d apparently cannolied into the sheet where it folds over the blankets. My showering, dressing and searching for you were fine, as human busy work goes, but nothing to bother waking up about. Once I’d stopped all my running around and fussing, it seemed worth it to wake up and get ready for breakfast.
When it comes to behavioral economics, Beagz, you’re a real cheapskate.
Love,
Your Person
I had a similarly talented cat, whose ability to hide was legendary. We shared a two room apartment on the third floor of a 4 story apartment building. She was exclusively an indoor cat. I searched up the chimney, down the toilet, under the bed, etc. etc. She had simply, and entirely disappeared. She was absent for a day or two before my next door neighbor appeared at my door and announced with annoyance that my cat was in his ceiling light. I went to his kitchen and looked up, there she was staring down at me! Apparently, while I was away at work she went exploring. “Cat-a-paulted” herself atop the refrigerator and from there climbed up the 2 by 4s, to and through a hole in the ceiling above the kitchen cabinets. A wandering she did go, until she dropped from the beams into the ceiling light and was stuck there complaining about her plight. The rest you can imagine, extra-cat-ing her was not simple. Even harder was finding a way to prevent her from repeating the performance. Smart critters can really try our own creativity.