I haven't seen our cat Patches in a little over a week. The last time I actually saw him was almost two weeks ago when I threw him out of the house on a Friday morning as we left for class. I'd brought him in to eat, but since he wouldn't quit going bezerk, I tossed him out. Then, he disappeared.
I found a mouse on the porch the next day, a usual gift from our kitty. He likes to catch the fattest field mouse he can find to present to us in the most inopportune places. Like the window sill beside our front porch. Delicious. After the last mouse, there was nothing except my occasional conviction that I'd heard his tags clinking together on his collar.
I should have gone to the pound, but we aren't home during the day when they are open. I felt so guilty. How could I not find the time some way, some how? We all missed him. My 3 year old took it the hardest. A couple of days after he first went missing he searched the house for him calling his name. Again last night, I was certain I'd heard his tags when I got home from work. As always, I couldn't find him.
Today when we got home, I was certain I heard a meow. It sounded as if it were coming from the neighbor's back shed. I instantly hoped that rather than my imagination it was my cat. When I went behind my own garage to investigate further, the silence convinced me that it had in fact been my imagination or a mockingbird perhaps. I called out "kitty, kitty" one more time. Just in case. . .