My cat is missing.



 My cat is missing. He's an indoor/outdoor cat. Not by my choice, but he so persistently wants to explore the outdoors that I have to let him. Or deal with constant meowing and scratching at doors. But he always comes home. Several times a day, in fact. Just to check in or have a nap. And though we've gone to bed before he's come home at night a few times, he's always there at the door in the morning demanding to be let in! I went to bed before my husband Monday night. I can't remember if Milo (the cat) was inside or out. He's usually blending into the navy blue armchair, curled into a ball of dark fur. When the light is low one can hardly see him.

Yesterday evening, as the sun began to set, I asked my husband if he had let the cat out this morning when he left for work. Typically Milo is the first one up! Or, if the baby wakes him he comes upstairs meowing to be let into the garage to do his business and have some breakfast. But I hadn't seen him all day. Not once. So, husband hopped on the bicycle to take a look around the cat's usual haunts on our street... and to make sure there was no smashed furry patch on the road... per my prompting. No sign of him. Baby boy woke me around 4am and I checked outside, hoping my cat would be there waiting. Nope. And again this morning. No sign. So, where's my cat? He always comes home. He annoys the crap out of me half the time, but he's my cat. I love him. He's one of my babies. And now I'm worried.

I brought him home on September 11th. Yes, the September 11th. We were living in Asia at the time and my husband traveled frequently.We were newlyweds and I'd never lived further than two hours from home (my parents' house of nearly 40-years now). I was in a strange country. I didn't know a soul. I needed a cat.  We had adopted Meena at 6-months old, just a week or so after moving there, to keep me company on all of his travels. Then, several months later a friend told me about a kitten she had found in her back yard. No sign of the mama and his eyes weren't even open. She had two older cats already and couldn't keep him. I took him in and bottle fed him and gave him love. This was not Milo. This was Bernard. But Bernard didn't make it past that first week. In our mutual grieving, my friend told me about a box of kittens that had been left at her vet's doorstep. We agreed I should stop by and just take a look!

My husband was traveling again. He was not there to deter me, though we had agreed after Bernard's passing that we should stick with just one cat. So, I stopped. First I held a tiny orange and white cat. But I'm not fond of orange cats. Then I saw Milo. The biggest of the litter, huge blue eyes and dark brown fur. One paw white, one brown. I picked him up and he immediately made a home on my shoulder. It was love at first purr. This silly, little cat was about 5 weeks old. He had just been weened from the bottle, but was drinking formula from a bowl. He sort-of rocked when he walked in the funniest way. He needed a bath after every use of the litter. He was so funny and so cute. Meena was about a year old and wasn't intimidated by this new roommate. She could knock him over just by lifting a paw. I introduced them to one another while the planes crashed into buildings.

Milo greeted my husband, upon his return, with that funny waddle of his. The husband was not upset. They became fast friends and Milo made a home in the husband's bathrobe pocket most mornings. He slept every night at my shoulder, nuzzling into my neck. These were lovely times. 4-years later we had a baby, and the kitty baby was displaced. But he handled it well. Months after that we moved back to the US and the cats came with us. They took longer to recover from the trip than we did, but eventually Milo felt at home again. He's the best cat for children. He lets them pull on him, lay on him, poke at him. He's always patient, and when they go too far he gives them a harmless warning. Enough to scare them, but never enough to hurt them. He's a good cat. But he's missing. And he doesn't have a collar. He always gets out of them, so we quit bothering. Enough of the neighbors know where he belongs. We'll wait another day to tell the girls.

Hopefully, he's safe.



How will I tell her?