“Cats don’t always come when you call them,” Mose said to Dwight in the darkness.  They were standing outside Angela’s house in the late evening, trying to coax Garbage to come to them so they could take him back home where he belonged.  Dwight had parked a hundred yards away and they had approached quietly.  The last thing he wanted was for Angela to notice he was here and mistakenly believe it was to see her.

His cousin Mose had missed Garbage more every passing day for weeks, making no secret of the fact.  He had lamented the cat’s absence often, even during table-making sessions.  It also bothered Dwight that Andy had turned the cat into a gift to further the former Stamfordian’s misbegotten, wrongheaded – depraved, Dwight sometimes thought - pursuit of the fair-haired accountant.  Returning the cat safely to Schrute Farms would bring a sense of justice on two fronts, so Dwight had set out in his Trans Am that night with a strong sense of determination and with Mose riding shotgun.

“Then why do people name them?”  Dwight shot back, tensely.  They kept their voices low.

“We could try another name, maybe she changed it.”

Dwight tried several more, any likely candidates he could think of - Excel, Easter, Jazz, Purgatory - but none of those worked. Garbage just licked a paw and didn’t pay much attention to them, his eyes sparkling in the dim light from the street lamp as the two men stood by the curb, unsure of how to proceed.  Dwight then remembered something he had seen Andy do once in the office to impress Angela.

“Moonwalk! Come here, Moonwalk.”  His voice was calibrated to be as quiet as possible and still be heard by the cat. He had rehearsed this a few times at the farm before they drove here.

The big cat looked over at them and stood up.  It took a single step in their direction, and was clearly intrigued but still wary.

Dwight was unhappy about the discovery he’d made.  “Dammit. How dare he!” he hissed, feeling a surge of frustration.  Then on impulse, he ran over to the animal and scooped it up, holding it tight.  He began to run back to his cousin, but Garbage didn’t cooperate at all and was out of his arms in a flash, leaving Dwight bleeding and stumbling back to the curb. 

Mose nearly tripped rushing forward to help his cousin.  “I thought we weren’t going to do it that way.”

“I know!” said Dwight as quietly as he could while trying to staunch the bleeding. “Let’s go home.” 

He had forgotten the number one rule about dealing with an independent, headstrong cat. Fact: you can’t force it, you let them be free and hope they choose you.

At work the next day, after a satisfying lunch of a bacon, chicken and beet sandwich on homemade bread, Dwight made his way to the empty conference room and plopped down in a chair to change his bandage in privacy. It was not a life threatening injury and he bore it stoically, but there were several deep scratches along his right hand and forearm.

A few hours earlier, Angela had noticed he seemed injured and asked him about it in passing, but he had brushed it off as nothing.  He had given her a wide berth ever since she’d made it clear to him that their days as a couple were over.  These days, he only let himself long for her from a respectful distance and had even taken to eating lunch alone in his car, listening to the radio and playing air guitar to sad oldies.

He finished applying ointment and started carefully wrapping a fresh bandage around his wounds from a full emergency medical kit he kept in one of his desk drawers. He had brought it in as a replacement for his weapons which had been confiscated, because a Schrute needs to be useful in an emergency in some way. As he gingerly covered the scratches (he was in more pain than he’d ever admit to anyone), he was vaguely aware of someone entering the room and standing near him, but he didn’t look up. No doubt it was Jim, coming to gloat, or perhaps Pam showing up to make a comment that would sound helpful and then later on the way home he’d realize she had really been making fun of him.

But the voice he heard was more sympathetic.

“Are you alright?” asked Angela.

He looked up, a bit stunned. There was not much emotion in her voice but her face was more open than he’d seen it in some time and her eyes were wide with sincere concern.

“I’ll live.”

“Do you mind if I take a look?”

“It’s a free office.”

She pulled a chair close to his and sat down.  Her smell, her voice, her presence that he’d missed so intensely was now overpoweringly close. A cat pendant she was wearing drooped against his arm as she took a closer look at what he was doing. “You’ve been avoiding me for months,” she said.

“You made your choice.”

She reached over and helped him finish securing the last part of the bandage snugly into place.  “I miss you, D.”