Our cat has gone away

Missing: One small, elegant, black-and-white cat, answering to the name of Charcoal when she deigns to recognise you. We haven't seen her this morning for her breakfast, and she didn't come in when called. There are no Charcoal-shaped sad, flat patches on the roads around here, though, which is reassuring.

She usually sleeps on our bed, and she always comes home for breakfast. We saw her yesterday evening. We're hoping she's found a house with people who feed her cream and cheese and other nice things, and will come home when she misses us.

If you see her, tell her we'd like her to come home for ten minutes to tell us she's ok.

The Prodigal Returns

The cat is back! Rob went next door to see if she was in there, but heard a plaintive miaou from the other direction. She was huddled behind a hedge, under some junk, and fell into his waiting arms as though he was the only friendly face she'd seen in a lifetime of abuse and neglect. When she got in, she seemed restless and unhappy; hungry, but disinclined to eat; eager to go out the back, but afraid to; lonely, but not wanting to be stroked.

We're very pleased she's back. That's the longest she's stayed out of the house while we've both been home.

Of course, if it had been her elder brother, we'd be saying "Hey, have you seen Mustard?" "Oh, I'm sure he was around last week." "Oh, that's alright then."

Charcoal is special.