I could have written this blog entry last weekend or anytime during much of the week just gone. I didn't because I didn't want to.
I didn't know the ending, or the ending I'd begun to anticipate wasn't one I was prepared to write about.
One of our cats, Neema - the fearless one, got out last Saturday. The two are house cats. They haven't been out, other than on our balcony, since the last time Neema got out - a decade ago.
She wasn't. We went looking Saturday evening and night. Sunday we printed flyers and I stuck them up all round our condo complex. We searched Sunday evening, and night. I looked Monday night, banging on a food dish with a spoon - something that calls her from the farthest reaches of the house. Normally.
No sign of her. Tuesday evening we went banging on garage doors, calling her name, in case she'd become trapped inside.
Sonja wandered around the house, a little more clingy than usual. She'd noticed her sister's absence.
We'd begun looking at rescue cats.
On Wednesday evening there came a banging on our front door. "We've found your cat!" And so they had, though it took a little effort to get her out from behind the set of bushes she'd decided provided good cover. "I just opened my door and she was sitting there," said the neighbor. Two women had been walking the complex every evening looking for her - at different times to when we'd been out.
A group of neighbors applauded. I took Neema in and sat her down in front of a food dish. She ate.
She's recovering, as are we. She lost a lot of weight. She also seems to have hurt her back, though nothing's broken. Little by little she's becoming more active, more vocal (a mixed blessing.) She's remembering her patterns. She sleeps on our bed.
An infuriating cat betimes. We are very happy to have her back.
Sonja...well, she's earning to tolerate the scent of this "new" cat. Sigh.
But, all in all, a far better ending that I'd started to fear awaited us.