A B*st*rd Cat, that is. I was working at home today, but had an
appointment with my physiotherapist. Our building is being maintenanced,
and there were some men coming in to do something to my floor, or rather
one corner of it, which was sagging a bit. I told them several times
that I have three cats, and one of them who was here doing some other
work yesterday met at least Frank (Miranda always heads for the hills
when the doorbell rings).

Well, I got back from my appointment just as the men were carrying out
their equipment. My door was standing open as they carried out power
tools and whatnot. I was a bit worried, but pretty confident that
Miranda and Caliban would be hiding somewhere from the big bad two-legs.
And Frank can't move fast enough that they would have missed it if he'd
snuck out. Sure enough, as soon as the men were gone and the door
closed, Frank came to greet me.

A short while later Miranda came slinking out of her own private black
hole, where she disappears when there are too many people around. But
there was no sign of Caliban.

I started to get worried. I tried all the tricks, shaking a food pouch,
opening the fridge, calling for him. All the things that usually bring
him running (it's been long since I met such a food-motivated cat).

I looked in all the closets to make sure I hadn't shut him in by
mistake. I crawled on the floor of the sauna and looked under the
benches here. I crawled on the floor in the bedroom and looked under the
bed. I looked behind every piece of furniture. I scanned all the
bookshelves.

I was starting to panic now. I went out into the enclosure with Miranda
and Frank, thinking Caliban would join us when he saw us out there. No
sign of him. My heart sinking I envisioned myself searching through the
hallway and then outside the building and maybe finding a squished
little tabby spot on the road.

Then I came back inside, and there he was, on the bed. Just like that.
On his way outside to play in the enclosure. B*st*rd Cat.