We thought he was a goner: Part 1
Last Friday afternoon I opened the door to get the mail, and he came down the stairs and peered out interestedly, for the first time since we moved.
Oh, well, I thought; might as well let him explore a bit. I held open the door for a moment to see if he would go for it, and he did.
Shy Kitty and I have lived in many places together, and except for the first apartment, when he was a little kitten and stayed inside, he's always been determined to explore the outdoors, and he's never gotten lost. Oh, he might go wandering for a day or so, but he always comes back. He's a scrapper from way back, a rail-thin, skittish, skeptical street-fighting tabby, and he's survived fifteen years of territory fights and bumps and falls and who knows what. Eight or nine years ago, he came home with his tail mysteriously broken, wailing pitifully; we took him to the vet and kept him indoors for a week, and he got better. (Though he looked really miffed about it and, RW interpreted, kept insisting that he didn't wish to discuss the issue.) Aside from that, and a couple of minor injuries from fighting, he's been remarkably healthy and resilient for an outdoor cat of his age.
So I didn't think much of it when we didn't hear so much as a scratch at the door Friday evening; I figured he was getting acquainted with his territory, getting his fill of the sweet outdoor air after having been confined for two months, and would come back when he got hungry.
By Sunday, though, I was getting worried.
[more tomorrow--it's been a long night.]