A small emergency earlier this week caused me and Doug to do some serious ransacking of our carefully decorated house.
Our 18-year-old cat, Casey, is a pampered house pet with no front claws or survival skills. When I got back from swimming laps at the Y Tuesday morning, she was nowhere to be found, although I had seen her when I left at about 6:00. She seldom leaves the couch, where she sleeps on her little fleece baby blanket.
Doug and I looked under every radiator, bed, and piece of furniture in our little house. We took flashlights to the basement and searched the crawl space, under the stairs, in the washer and dryer, and under all the tables and workbenches.
We even searched the yard and the neighbor's yards on the off-chance that she had gotten out--which we doubted, but when you can't find her in the house, you start looking outside.
Late in the afternoon, exhausted from crying and searching, I left to attend a work-related event on campus.
A little while later, Doug went up to our loft to check his email. When he came back down, Casey was sitting on the living room rug looking at him like “What’s the problem?”
We still have absolutely NO idea of where she could have been for 10 hours. But we sure know where all the dust hides out in our house.