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jere7myDid I mention yesterday that I hadn't done any exploring? Well, I managed some this morning, between about four and six A.M., staggering through the graveyard as dawn slowly crushed the night and my hopes.
It was my plan to be asleep between four and six A.M., but just as I was about to put on my nightshirt I realized I hadn't seen the cat in some time. Swiftly following was the realization that the tiny hole in the screen door was quite a bit bigger than it was. Cue a swiftly mounting sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. I hunted through the apartment—with so many boxes, there are aleph-one places for a kitten to hide—then grabbed a flashlight and began doing my best prowler impression around the neighborhood. Amazingly, nobody called the cops (which, perhaps, is a little worrying) as I was peering beneath the neighbors' bushes...but no cat turned up, either.
I woke K., who joined the search, and remained rather calmer than me; after two hours of searching, I was quite close to tears, but she was pragmatic. "It's a new city!" I said. "She doesn't know her way around! Traffic will pick up soon! Her collar has the old phone number on it!" Every car that passed made me wince, expecting a sickening thud; my legs started getting wobbly; my eyes began doing tricksy things with half-seen movements. Finally, K. convinced me that I'd done all I could, and made me sleep, with plans to make signs and call the shelters when I woke.
Instead, when I woke (about four hours later), something made me rise and walk to the bedroom window, through which I saw a blur of black-n-white running through the back yard. Five seconds either way, I'd've missed her; she disappeared around a corner while I watched. After a bit of half-asleep babbling and pointing, K. ran outside and found a very small and scared Gus, who was more than happy to come running to her. She's hiding beneath the sink, still, but she seems all right.
It remains to be seen whether Gus went into heat last night and had a Hello, Sailor evening; she is due to be spayed on Thursday, but she isn't yet. It is remarkably easier to breathe now that she is back, though. We love that little fluffball; it's hard to imagine losing her.
(And the song choice was utterly random. Truly.)
It was my plan to be asleep between four and six A.M., but just as I was about to put on my nightshirt I realized I hadn't seen the cat in some time. Swiftly following was the realization that the tiny hole in the screen door was quite a bit bigger than it was. Cue a swiftly mounting sense of dread in the pit of my stomach. I hunted through the apartment—with so many boxes, there are aleph-one places for a kitten to hide—then grabbed a flashlight and began doing my best prowler impression around the neighborhood. Amazingly, nobody called the cops (which, perhaps, is a little worrying) as I was peering beneath the neighbors' bushes...but no cat turned up, either.
I woke K., who joined the search, and remained rather calmer than me; after two hours of searching, I was quite close to tears, but she was pragmatic. "It's a new city!" I said. "She doesn't know her way around! Traffic will pick up soon! Her collar has the old phone number on it!" Every car that passed made me wince, expecting a sickening thud; my legs started getting wobbly; my eyes began doing tricksy things with half-seen movements. Finally, K. convinced me that I'd done all I could, and made me sleep, with plans to make signs and call the shelters when I woke.
Instead, when I woke (about four hours later), something made me rise and walk to the bedroom window, through which I saw a blur of black-n-white running through the back yard. Five seconds either way, I'd've missed her; she disappeared around a corner while I watched. After a bit of half-asleep babbling and pointing, K. ran outside and found a very small and scared Gus, who was more than happy to come running to her. She's hiding beneath the sink, still, but she seems all right.
It remains to be seen whether Gus went into heat last night and had a Hello, Sailor evening; she is due to be spayed on Thursday, but she isn't yet. It is remarkably easier to breathe now that she is back, though. We love that little fluffball; it's hard to imagine losing her.
(And the song choice was utterly random. Truly.)
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Thank Bast!
Date: 2005-07-05 05:46 pm (UTC)Instead, they haven't even acted out by defecating in odd places. They just meow a lot and Snowball insists on yowling and checking on me every 2 minutes while I am 'otherwise occupied' in the bathroom.
Get that kitty spayed before she starts gestating! There's enough kittens in the world.