I still miss Crimson.
He’s a tan long hair cat, with a brown face, a bushy long tail and beautiful blue eyes. I think he’s a Balinese.
I never thought I could love a cat because they made me nervous. I’d cringe if one rubbed up against my leg. And the way they jump onto kitchen counter tops. Ugh. But my husband has always loved cats, and I never understood why.
My son named him Crimson because we already had another cat named Clover.
Crimson and Clover.
Neither of them were really ours. They’re neighborhood strays. But somehow they became part of our family anyway.
We’re renters and don’t have pets, and when we moved here, I never imagined wanting a pet.
Before Crimson showed up my husband started feeding Clover and her sibling, Scotty. She’s a long hair calico and Scotty, an orange tabby. They hung out in the garden area every day after making friends with my husband. They were the reason I started softening towards cats before Crimson ever came around.
Unfortunately, Scotty died, and there was only Clover until Crimson appeared a couple of years later.
My husband and son spotted a strange cat lurking in the bushes.
It’s like he appeared out of nowhere. Naturally, my husband brought him food.
Had someone abandoned him? Was he lost? I even posted a “found cat” notice on a missing cat website.
But before long, Crimson had adopted not only us, but a couple of our neighbors, too.
I was hoping Crimson’s stay was only temporary because he made me anxious. Surely, his owners would see the cat notice and contact me.
Crimson was loud. Intrusive. And I could tell by his large male parts that he wasn’t neutered. The way he was always sniffing Clover made me nervous. I didn’t want him trying anything with her. But she was spayed and kept her distance. I also read that male cats who haven’t been neutered tend to spray to mark their territory. I didn’t want him spraying around our front door, leaving a smell of cat urine. Fortunately, he didn’t.
Crimson wasn’t like Clover and Scotty, who were finicky and liked to be left alone most of the time. They tolerated bouts of attention, but Crimson demanded it.
He meowed constantly.
Clover stopped coming around as much because of Crimson. That’s one of the reasons he irritated me, too. Clover was here first, and now he’s taking over. He was a young cat, and he probably didn’t realize how annoying he could be.
Hungry or not, he’d sit outside our door meowing all day long. His long, loud meows reminded me of a newborn baby. I love babies but when they won’t stop crying, it leaves you feeling helpless, not knowing what to do to help. That was Crimson.
Every time I opened the front door, there he was, sometimes lying right on the welcome mat, where I’d almost trip over him. I bought a new mat that was made of prickly straw, hoping it would deter him from sitting there. But he loved it and probably thought I bought it just for him. Ha.
If I walked to the laundry room, he’d follow me there and back. One day I knew he’d already had breakfast, but I thought he might still be hungry.
He threw up all his food.
That’s when I knew he was eating too much. I had no idea so many others were feeding him as well.
My husband said he probably had food insecurity. Maybe he’d spent so much of his young life wondering where his next meal would come from that he couldn’t believe the food would keep coming.
Poor guy.
One day, a lady stopped to chat when she saw me outside with Crimson. She was part of a TNR (Trap-Neuter-Return) team and asked if I’d help her trap him so she could get him neutered.
I have to admit, I felt a little special that Crimson trusted me enough for me to get him into the trap. At the same time, I felt bad seeing him in that cage, even though I knew it was for a good cause. And I hoped he wouldn’t resent me for it.
He was gone for a few days, and I remember wondering if we’d ever see him again.
Thankfully, the woman brought him back to the area. But he looked rough. His fur was all matted with cat litter stuck to it.
My husband and one of our neighbors slowly got him cleaned up over the next few days.
And after that, there were some gradual changes.
He settled down. And so did I.
He wasn’t quite so frantic anymore. Nor was I.
He was still talkative. Still followed us everywhere. Still wanted attention. But now his sweet personality started shining through.
Looking back, I think that’s when my heart started changing too.
Crimson was incredibly social. He’d walk in front of me and flop down at my feet just so I’d pet him. He was the first cat who exposed his belly to me, wanting me to pet him that way.
Crimson often seemed more like a dog than a cat. If we were out walking and down the street, my husband would call “CRIMSON!” and he’d appear and come bounding towards us.
I miss that.
I didn’t realize I loved Crimson so much until the day he disappeared.
I began to remember all the little things I’d taken for granted. Seeing him stretched out in the garden. Tripping over him because he’d claimed the doormat as his own. Having him follow me to the laundry room. The way he’d flop down in front of me because he wanted his belly rubbed.
I didn’t realize how much those ordinary moments meant until they were gone. Crimson drove me crazy but it’s funny how the very thing that irritated me is now the very thing I miss. His loud incessant meowing that got on my nerves became the sound I kept hoping to hear outside our front door. And I realized that all that meowing wasn’t just for food; he wanted love.
About a week before he went missing, Crimson didn’t show up for breakfast, and that was unusual, knowing how much he loved his food. By mid morning and no Crimson I was getting nervous. I saw what looked like dried blood on the sidewalk. I was convinced a coyote had gotten him but certainly the blood wouldn’t have dried up that quick if that were the case.
My son and I went looking for him. We walked around the park and all around the neighborhood. On our way home I was bummed. I was hoping we’d see him.
As we walked down the sidewalk wondering where Crimson could be, my son stopped in his tracks.
“Did you hear that?”
I didn’t hear a thing.
“I heard a faint meow.” I thought my son was kidding around.
But the next meow was loud enough to hear. We looked to the right of the sidewalk, and there was Crimson, snuggled up in a pink bush, looking like he’d just woken up.
I don’t know what he was doing this far down the street, but he seemed okay. He wasn’t injured and didn’t seem sick.
He followed us home, and we gave him something to eat.
I had no idea that would be a foreshadowing of what was coming.
Just a few days later, he really did disappear. July 23, 2024 was the last time we saw him.
We looked and looked and looked, but no Crimson. We asked around. I put up a notice on a missing cat website.
Days turned into weeks. Weeks turned into months. Months have now become years. It’ll be two years today, July 24, 2026, that Crimson vanished.
The strange thing is, Clover started coming around again the very day Crimson disappeared. She’d been staying away in the mornings, and we didn’t see her nearly as much, but that morning she was there, and she stayed all day. It seemed she knew Crimson was gone, and I think she saw what happened to him.
I wished she could tell me.
I’d find myself looking out the window, hoping to see Crimson laying on the door mat like he always had.
Every little sound outside made me wonder if it was him, and I’d rush to look out the window.
On my morning walks, I’d catch myself scanning the neighborhood, hoping to spot that familiar tan blue eyed beautiful cat.
Looking at pictures of him only made me miss him more.
Where are you? Did someone take you in? Did a coyote get you?
I don’t know.
But I do have my suspicions.
Our off-site landlord hates cats. One day, when I was looking out of the window, I watched him walk past Crimson, and the way he looked at him, I thought for sure he was going to kick him. He didn’t, but he called him a horrible name.
A week or two later, Crimson was gone.
Around that same time, all of the tenants received a text asking us not to feed “the community cat” because cat hair in the entryway of a vacant unit was supposedly making it harder to rent.
The text didn’t say stop feeding the “cats.”
It said, “cat.”
I believe he was talking about the cat he encountered that day—Crimson.
Years earlier, long before any cats were coming around, the handyman told me the landlord once had him relocate another cat from one of his rental properties.
I’ve often wondered if that’s what happened to Crimson.
I’ll never know what really happened because I wasn’t there.
What I do know is that I still miss him.
Another fond memory I have of Crimson is that he made friends with a gray stray cat we call Fuzz.
Fuzz never left his territory down the street. And he’d never let anyone get close to him except a man and woman who fed him in the local park. But when he became friends with Crimson, he started showing up. They ate together. Napped together. They were best buds. Fuzz is no longer a loner and has adopted us as his. Not just us but another neighbor, too. We can pet him, and our front door is now his favorite place. Looking at Fuzz and how he’s now social is a reminder of how wonderful Crimson is.
Sometimes I imagine someone took Crimson in and gave him a warm home.
Sometimes I hope he’ll make his way back to us, even after all this time.
It’s a faint hope now. But it’s still there.
Just like the place Crimson still holds in my heart.