I was in the bathroom trying to shave, a doubtful enterprise at best, especially after being sick and deciding that my appearance was even less important for several days. My neck resembled a cheese left long-forgotten in the bottom drawer of the fridge.
My wife Dawn energetically opened the bathroom door, regardless of my current state, and breathlessly asked, “Why is Güino outside?” (Güino is our tuxedo cat and our current landlord.)
My mind began racing, attempting to imagine the scenario wherein the cat dematerialized and passed through a wall – or in a more sinister fashion, learned how to open the front door.
Dawn raced to the living room window facing the street and peered through the blinds. “He was looking at me through the office window!”
Just as I decided that I foolishly let him escape through some unimaginable series of events, Dawn exclaimed, “That’s not Güino!”
I almost regret that Dawn figured out the bewildering puzzle before cat-whispering the outside doppelganger strange cat into the house, only to be face-to-face with Güino.
What a strange tale we might have told, as our house morphed from a solo to a duet, cat fur flying in the background, one of the rarest cases of mistaken feline identity.
P.S. Dawn already wears glasses.