The unbearable lightness of heavy responsibility.
Friday evening was spent in panic and crisis as our cats displayed for the first time the darker shades of their characters. Clint (the naughty kitten) disappeared into the West Lothian darkness at about 7.45 pm. He failed to reappear by 8.15 unlike his (good) sister Smudge. Having recently lost our long term cat Syrus we called out a two person search party straight away - in the rain. "History has repeated itself yet again" was all I could think as we staggered around in the fields, woods and roadways in the dark and cold, banging on a feeding dish and whistling and calling. At about 11.30 we abandoned the house to house, hedge to tree search and came home, tired and well and truly down in the dumps. Our little cat was lost and the feeling of being powerless and unable to search further was awful.
Then a miracle: It came after we'd gone to sleep thinking about how we'd have to tell the kids of how yet another cat had disappeared into the Hopetoun Triangle. Clint trotted in at 5.00am, clean, alert, dry and warm - where had he been? What had he done? Did he care or show any sign of remorse? Well no he's a bloody cat and doesn't bother in the least.
A few theories have been floated on this one: Parallel worlds, kidnap, rabbit hole, chimney, UFO abduction, hiding under a strangers bed, exploring the fields, wandering into another house - none can be confirmed to explain how he (a small and timid kitten) effectively vanished for 10 hours on a cold and horrible night - at least he's back, we're sane again and the squirrel soup is on the cooker.
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