Just before we went grocery shopping, we closed all the doors and windows against the mozzies and we looked around for the beasties, but only Tellulah was inside. I called Oberon, I called some more, but he was a no show. Looking around the wall that separates our balcony from the roof of our downstairs neighbor’s carport, I couldn’t see him there, either. Looking out the office windows, Fahim couldn’t see him on that roof either. As far as we could tell, he was gone.
Oberon has never not come when I called him. I even resorted to the "T" word – treat. He didn’t come to that either.
Was he impaled? Was he dead? Did he fall through the roof of our neighbors garage? Is he stranded somewhere? Did someone find him on the street and decide to take him home? Did he get run over? Is he in the jungle next door?
I know, I know, he’s only a cat. But dammit, he’s MY cat. And I was worried. Every now and then, I went onto the patio to call his name. He didn’t show.
Fahim told me to stop worrying and called me various unflattering names – not mean ones, just accurate ones. He even caught me going on to the patio again and told me not to open the door. Either Oberon was okay or he wasn’t, but in any event, there was nothing I could do now except calm down and wait. Someone could call – he’s wearing a tag with my cell phone number on it. Or he could just show up tomorrow or the day after.
Drat.
