...but before anyone gets anxious, all is well.
Thursday evening I arrived home, came out of the garage, and Fawn was not there trying to get in. She was also not under the forsythia, preparing to dash like a maniac across my path to the cat door. Cindy was in the yard, came and said hello, did not come in with me.
I went upstairs, opened up, went to get the mail, etc., etc., during which time, the feline contingent usually (but not always) gathers in or near the kitchen in preparation for the serving of dinner. No cats present, I still prepared their dinner, because I needed to get busy on ours, too, so we could get out to choir practice in a timely fashion.
When dinner was ready, Cindy came in, ate and left again in the space of about two minutes. Sometimes Suzy waits until the others are done, so her absence meant exactly nothing. I didn't think much about Fawn's absence either, because occasionally one or another just has more important Cat Business to tend, and comes in later.
Rob came home, we had dinner, got ourselves ready to go out. I asked him if he'd seen Fawn. "Nope. Didn't come for dinner?" "Nope." Well, mildly unsettling, but not yet cause for alarm.
We went to our rehearsal, which went late, and got home about 10:30. Cindy was in the yard, but did not come in. Still no Fawn. Now we start to wonder. And worry. And search the house. And I put together a poster -- just in case. Just when I'm finishing at the computer, Cindy comes in the cat door, rubs my legs, and does the "time for bed, Mum" dance between me and the stairs. So, we go upstairs, say goodnight to Daddy, agree with Daddy that if Fawn has not appeared by Friday evening, we print a mess of posters and do the neighbourhood. Cindy takes Mummy to bed, Daddy follows shortly. Cindy stays with us all night, just as usual, though it couldn't have been a comfortable night for her, since the humans were on the restless side.
In the morning, I prepare breakfast, call all three cats, Cindy comes, then Suzy, no Fawn -- no surprise, by this time. I'm in the bedroom, making the bed, about to say goodbye to Rob, when I look up to the doorway. I grab Rob, turning him, and saying "Look, Daddy". There is our girl.
Needless to say, we had a few tears of joy and relief. She had obviously had a scare, because she was lacking her usual confidence, but she allowed me to check her over, and to cuddle her seriously enough to elicit protest if it caused her any discomfort. She was OK all over, if shaken by whatever experience she had had.
I put the cat door on "in only" so that she wouldn't go out before we'd had another opportunity to make sure she was really OK -- or before she'd had a chance to regain her self confidence.
We went off to work. When I got home, there were three cats telling me about the malfunction of the cat door, and demanding I do something about it. I checked Miss Fawn again, though by this time, she was so much her usual in-your-face self that it was more formality than anything.
So, our girl is OK, and now that the crisis is over, I look back at Cindy's actions. Ordinarily, she would have come in with me Thursday evening. Instead, she stayed in the yard, except for a couple of minutes to grab a bite. Ordinarily, she would have come in with us when we got home later on. Instead, she stayed in the yard for another -- I don't know -- hour? -- and then came in and hustled me to bed.
Do you suppose that, all along, she knew where Fawn was, was keeping an eye on her, keeping peeping eyes away from her, but by bedtime knew that Fawn would be OK until she decided to show herself, and now her (Cindy's) job was in the house reassuring the humans? It sure seems that way.
Thursday evening I arrived home, came out of the garage, and Fawn was not there trying to get in. She was also not under the forsythia, preparing to dash like a maniac across my path to the cat door. Cindy was in the yard, came and said hello, did not come in with me.
I went upstairs, opened up, went to get the mail, etc., etc., during which time, the feline contingent usually (but not always) gathers in or near the kitchen in preparation for the serving of dinner. No cats present, I still prepared their dinner, because I needed to get busy on ours, too, so we could get out to choir practice in a timely fashion.
When dinner was ready, Cindy came in, ate and left again in the space of about two minutes. Sometimes Suzy waits until the others are done, so her absence meant exactly nothing. I didn't think much about Fawn's absence either, because occasionally one or another just has more important Cat Business to tend, and comes in later.
Rob came home, we had dinner, got ourselves ready to go out. I asked him if he'd seen Fawn. "Nope. Didn't come for dinner?" "Nope." Well, mildly unsettling, but not yet cause for alarm.
We went to our rehearsal, which went late, and got home about 10:30. Cindy was in the yard, but did not come in. Still no Fawn. Now we start to wonder. And worry. And search the house. And I put together a poster -- just in case. Just when I'm finishing at the computer, Cindy comes in the cat door, rubs my legs, and does the "time for bed, Mum" dance between me and the stairs. So, we go upstairs, say goodnight to Daddy, agree with Daddy that if Fawn has not appeared by Friday evening, we print a mess of posters and do the neighbourhood. Cindy takes Mummy to bed, Daddy follows shortly. Cindy stays with us all night, just as usual, though it couldn't have been a comfortable night for her, since the humans were on the restless side.
In the morning, I prepare breakfast, call all three cats, Cindy comes, then Suzy, no Fawn -- no surprise, by this time. I'm in the bedroom, making the bed, about to say goodbye to Rob, when I look up to the doorway. I grab Rob, turning him, and saying "Look, Daddy". There is our girl.
Needless to say, we had a few tears of joy and relief. She had obviously had a scare, because she was lacking her usual confidence, but she allowed me to check her over, and to cuddle her seriously enough to elicit protest if it caused her any discomfort. She was OK all over, if shaken by whatever experience she had had.
I put the cat door on "in only" so that she wouldn't go out before we'd had another opportunity to make sure she was really OK -- or before she'd had a chance to regain her self confidence.
We went off to work. When I got home, there were three cats telling me about the malfunction of the cat door, and demanding I do something about it. I checked Miss Fawn again, though by this time, she was so much her usual in-your-face self that it was more formality than anything.
So, our girl is OK, and now that the crisis is over, I look back at Cindy's actions. Ordinarily, she would have come in with me Thursday evening. Instead, she stayed in the yard, except for a couple of minutes to grab a bite. Ordinarily, she would have come in with us when we got home later on. Instead, she stayed in the yard for another -- I don't know -- hour? -- and then came in and hustled me to bed.
Do you suppose that, all along, she knew where Fawn was, was keeping an eye on her, keeping peeping eyes away from her, but by bedtime knew that Fawn would be OK until she decided to show herself, and now her (Cindy's) job was in the house reassuring the humans? It sure seems that way.
