“Are you missing a cat?” she asked, rising up on her tip-toes and wobbling her head back-and-forth as if she knew how this conversation would end.
“No, ma’am.” I answered.
“No, our cats are right here,” I said.
“Are you sure?” she pressed. “There’s a cat in my basement, and I only see two cats here.”
“I’m not lying; we only have two cats.”
Stunned, Ms. Gulch stared with disbelief.
“After your first visit, we decided it would be best to move our cat to the country. There’s no way she’s in your basement,” I explained.
“Well, the cat in my basement looks exactly like that cat,” she said, pointing another one of our cats.
“Obviously, my cat isn’t in your basement because she is right here. It isn’t the cat you identified last time because she’s now living in a barn 30 minutes away.”
“Well, whose cat is it?” she asked.
“I don’t know. But we’ve done all we can do to help you,” I replied. I certainly wasn’t going to assist in her cat hunt.
She thanked me and drove away.
I guess it wasn’t Buster terrorizing her afterall. Am I a terrible mother or what?