There’s an old saying that goes, “If a Kellerman adopts an animal, there’s a seventy-eight percent chance they’ll misplace it.”

I’m pretty sure I saw that etched on a wall somewhere.

At any rate, while I was cleaning our deck in the warm weather and contemplating whether patio furniture actually needs cushions or if guests don’t mind sitting down and falling all the way through, I received a phone call from Husband, informing me he’d decided to decide on a cat before I decided we needed to decide together.

Excellent.

I finished cleaning, all the while wondering whether it would be a beast of a thing which would attack unprovoked, or so docile, we’d say “Hi” to it, and the poor thing would keel over out of shock. One never really knows what one is getting when the pet adoption process occurs.

Out of respect, when Husband got home, I kept the kids away while the cat was introduced to his free reign of the garage and basement, food, and litter box. We held a family meeting, christened our new ink black cat, “Salvador Perez,” and enjoyed listening to twins try to say his name out loud.

And then we lost him.

Husband stared at me on Sunday morning. “You haven’t see a cat around here, have you?”

“I trust you’re referring to the cat we just bought. Short? Furry? Traditionally bad luck, but that didn’t deter you in the slightest?”

“Yes, that one. I’ve looked everywhere. He’s gone.”

“But he just got here.”

“I know.”

“We’re really bad at this.”

The rest of Sunday was spent checking all crevices, drawers, and under engine hoods. All the doors had been locked. Had he booked a flight on Southwest and not even written a note? That was a fine how-do-you-do.

Could cats write?

By the end of the day, I’d accepted the fact the Kellermans were, unequivocally, the worst cat owners in the world and decided that, if I ever ran into this particular cat again, I’d buy him a drink to commend him on one of the finest disappearing acts since the year my waist checked out.

Miraculously, as the sun set on both the house and my ferver for caring for small animals, Husband emerged victoriously from the garage and declared Salvador Perez to not only be alive, but had discovered a hiding spot behind a set of cabinets.

Cheers to you, Mr Salvador Perez. Welcome to the Split-level …and may the odds be ever in your favor.

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Paige Kellerman blogs about marriage, babies and gin at www.paigekellerman.com. You can reach her at .