Beautiful Maurice went missing five weeks ago, he walked out down the path one evening and never came home. I have been distraught, even though I kept telling myself he was just a cat, and not to get so ridiculously upset about the fact he had disappeared, it didn't stop the nag nag nag of what could have happened to him.
All the horrid lurid notions of where he might be, and what sort of a state might he be in, which make you wake you in the night. Then the hopeless and defeatist of willing, whilst you long for the comfort of sleep that if that the case that hopefully he is dead and no longer in pain.
I had convinced myself that he must be dead, after all we live next to a railway line and what chance has a un-streetwise very small all black cat got in the dead of night with a freight train?
Sewing in the evenings at my big machine in my work room has been very hard. He would always sit in my lap purring as I sewed. Now sewing alone, it is hard to sew straight lines whilst crying.
Then miraculously late last night my lovely husband took a call from a kind local resident to say he had a very distressed very vocal small black cat in his conservatory drinking milk from a saucer. On his collar tag was his name Maurice and on the reverse our telephone number.
Maurice, I am so very pleased to say is now home, very, very, thin with a cut on his leg and a cut on his neck, and no doubt a story to tell, but oh, how he is so pleased to be home. And oh, I am so pleased to have him back.
It is now poor Big One who is distraught, after having the run of the place for 5 weeks, with all the extra attention and extra dinners he could manage, to come in from the garden and find the nampy pamby younger brother steeling the show has tipped him over the edge into a massive sulk.
Although half a can of tuna and the promise of some lightly poached chicken livers did ease his disappointment of Maurice's return some what.