Slip of the Paw

Hello, there!

Down here!

No, no, no, under the armoire, I mean.

A little lower- Good!

Hello!

How are you on this fine, dusty day?

What am I doing down here, you ask?

Why, there’s a perfectly simple answer to that.

About two years ago, my wearer, Claudia, was petting the cat in her bedroom- And let me tell you, it is not a pleasant experience to me; my face is repeatedly smushed onto the cat’s back everytime she strokes her- When suddenly, I slipped off her finger and fell onto the floor with a small clink!

I thought she would hear and lean down to pick me up.

I really did.

But the cat’s purring was so loud, it drowned out my tiny clink, and after a moment, the cat rolled onto her back, squishing and hiding me from Claudia’s sight.

When my wearer left, the cat got up and shook herself, accidentally stepping on me with her back paw. She turned around and saw me, and when I saw the gleam in her eyes, I knew I was doomed.

The cat, you see, has a horrible tendency to knock things off counters or under tables, and trust me, I’ve seen her do it many times. Claudia would often ask, “Where is my left sock?” or “Why is the saltshaker on the floor?” and of course, if I could speak I would have answered, because as I sit on her finger I have nothing to do but to stare at my surroundings, and so I’ll see the cat attacking Claudia’s socks and pushing them under the couch while my wearer’s back is turned, and I’ve seen her shoving saltshakers off counters and running away at full speed before she gets caught.

But I couldn’t talk.

So I couldn’t tell her.

So when the cat saw me, she immediately thought I was a toy, and gingerly reached out with one paw to push me. Once she saw how I slid across the floor and didn’t cause her any harm, her eyes became wide, and she sat back on her haunches, wiggled a bit, then pounced at me. She began sliding me all around the wood floor, sometimes picking me up in her mouth (That was NOT fun. Not one bit.) then dropping me and pushing me around again.

Eventually, she made a mistake- a slip-of-the-paw, if you will- and accidentally slid me right under the armoire.

After a few feeble attempts to reach under and pull me out, she let out a small huff, lost interest, and left.

Which brings me to where I am now.

Dust surrounds me, along with several pieces of trash and some other random bottle caps and things that the cat had pushed under here.

The day I was lost, I heard my owner come into the room at night with her husband, get on the bed, then yelp incredulously. I heard her saying, “My ring! Where is it?”

He asked sleepily from under the covers, “What ring?”

“My wedding ring. Where on Earth did it go?”

I realized why she’d only just found out she’d lost me. Every night before she went to sleep, she’d put me in a small box by her bedside table. Of course, I haven’t slept in that box in years.

To this day, she still wonders where I am.

And I’ll always be here until she finds me.