Tonight I sit down to write a message that, somehow, I knew I was
eventually going to write, even though I have dreaded it: I am
officially abandoning my search for Albert, my beautiful indoor-only
cat, who disappeared from my house on July 16 after my wife left the
back door unlocked and our hyperactive toddler son let him slip out of
the door without telling us.

As of tonight (August 14), Albert, my cat--my beloved little boy--who
was born in my house 3 years ago and has never been outside of it
except for some recent escape attempts, has been missing just over four
full weeks.  And although I have received a few calls from people who
say they have seen him-one call came as recently as three days
ago-I am now convinced that all of the sightings have been for
another cat.

I know there are those people who will say I must have faith, and that
at least some of those sightings may have been Albert.  But I must pay
attention to what I feel inside of me, and it is something I have felt
almost since the beginning-I feel at this point that Albert is not
only far away from my house, but also that he is most likely dead or
dying.  If there is any hope at this point, it is hope that somehow
Albert has found another home where someone can love him and take care
of him the way I used to.

Why am I so sure that Albert is gone?  Well, he just never fit the
pattern of the typical stray indoor-only cat.  Most of the time, you
hear about indoor-only cats that somehow find themselves
outside-sometimes by pure accident.  Albert wasn't like that-he
WANTED to go outside.  DEFINITELY wanted it.  DESPERATELY wanted it.
For the past 6 or 7 months, he made every attempt to escape outside
whenever he had half a chance.  It got to the point where you
couldn't leave or enter the house without watching your feet to see
if Albert was trying to run past you.  It got to the point where Albert
spent all of his time, sitting by the door and meowing very loudly.
There is even a bald spot on the front door where he constantly
scratched it to try to get out!

Another reason I know Albert is gone has to do with how much ground he
covered so early in his journey.  I will never know why Albert suddenly
decided that he wanted to go outside, but when my son finally gave him
his chance, he RAN.  The last absolutely positive sighting of Albert
was in the early hours of July 17, where a man returning home from his
night job saw Albert by his house.  THIS MAN LIVES TWELVE HOUSES AWAY
FROM ME.  Albert had gone this distance after only a few hours of being
free!

When Albert left my house, I was absolutely devastated (still am), but
I tried my best to do "all the right things" in order to bring him
back.  I put large neon yellow signs EVERYWHERE around my neighborhood.
I went door-to-door talking to everyone on my block, giving them a
flyer with a photo of Albert.  I stuffed flyers in mailboxes for two
blocks in every direction.  I even got yelled at by a mailman for doing
it!  I put Albert's used kitty litter all over my front and back
yards.  I put out food for a few nights, but my neighbor's cat simply
ate all of it as soon as I put it out.

About a week after Albert left, I got a couple of traps-one I rented
from an animal welfare agency, and one I bought myself.  I got
permission to trap from some neighbors who lived right in the middle of
the area where most of the sightings took place.  I put the traps in
that area, but night after night, I caught NOTHING.  I did catch a
couple of cats here and there, but of course, they weren't Albert.  I
started to get desperate and started putting the traps wherever I could
find a vacant house.  Again, no luck.  I started to get tired of having
such bitter disappointment every morning when I went to check the
traps.

So today, I made the decision that I had desperately been putting off.
I decided to face the fact that Albert is gone forever, and therefore I
must stop wasting any more time searching for him.

Today, I called the animal welfare agency and made arrangements to
bring them the traps.  Not only did I give them their trap back, but I
also donated the trap that I bought.  You all might think it's corny,
but on the trap that I bought, I engraved the words "IN MEMORY OF
ALBERT".  I told the lady at the agency that, although Albert never
came home, maybe in some small way his trap might help someone else
come home.

In a strange way, engraving the trap gave me a small amount of comfort.
It's almost as if I now have proof that Albert did not die in vain.
In some small way, Albert can help someone else out.  In other words,
his escape now has a positive side that diminishes, just a little bit,
the overwhelming negative side.

Grief is a strange thing.  I have constantly thought about Albert ever
since he left, and I play senseless little mind games with myself in
order to try to maintain some connection with him.  For example, I took
a CD off the shelf the other day to play in my car.  I said to myself,
"The last time I heard this CD, Albert was with me."  I will put a
shirt on, and I will remember the last time I wore it, remembering
Albert curled up on my chest as I relaxed on the sofa watching TV.  I
look at certain spots on the floor where Albert used to relax.  I can
almost see him right there in front of me right this minute.  Typing
this has filled my eyes with tears.  (I won't even tell you all how
many tears I have cried since Albert left.)

I have a recording studio in my house, and the day before Albert left,
he was with me in the studio as I recorded this woman giving French
lessons.  Albert had been making too much noise just outside the studio
door so I let him come into the studio to sit on my lap during the
recording.  Albert loved me very much and was very affectionate, and
the entire time the woman was recording, Albert sat in my lap and
purred.  It just so happens that the expensive microphone I was using
is very sensitive, and it actually picked up Albert's purring!  The
other day, I sat in my studio and listened to the recording of the
French lessons, just so I could hear Albert purring in the background.
I will never erase that recording.  Thank God he was there to leave his
little voice for me to hear!  It's all that's left now.

I have so many emotions right now.  On one hand, I'm angry at my
wife's carelessness.  She's a careless person in general, but it
has always been something I can deal with, even to the point of loving
her for it.  Living with her is like living in an episode of "I Love
Lucy"-she's always making little situations that I have to clean
up.  But this time, her carelessness has caused a genuine loss, maybe
even ended a life, and I don't know how to deal with the anger I feel
toward her for it.  Even now, at this late date.  I know I shouldn't
feel that way.  After all, she didn't mean for this to happen.  But
I'm angry nonetheless, and I will resent her for this for a long,
long time.  I try to keep my anger hidden from her, but she knows how
I'm feeling.

I am also bewildered.  Why did Albert want to go outside so badly?  Did
he make up his mind that he just didn't want to be our cat anymore?
Were we doing something wrong?  I know not to take what Albert did
personally, but when I think of him alone and starving out there, I
can't help but wonder how he could leave the love and security of our
house so far behind.  Of the three cats we had, Albert was by far the
most affectionate, and I guess it is this fact that makes his leaving
all the more upsetting and impossible to figure out.

Of course, deep, wounding sadness fills my heart, but I am also
overwhelmed with longing.  I long to see Albert, just one more time.
Heck, I would even be satisfied with a fleeting glimpse, as long as I
knew it was him.  I long to know what has happened to him.  Is he
alright?  Is he being cared for?  Or is he dead in a ditch somewhere?
Has he been hit by a car?  Does he miss us?  Does he even know we
exist?  Does he know where his house is?  I long to know these things,
and with them all I long for closure.  Of course, I know I will never
get it, which only adds to my sadness.

I am, above all, realistic.  I know my life will go on, as it must.
Time passes, as it always does, and we go on with our lives--we even
get other pets.  A couple of weeks ago, we adopted Princess, a lovely
female long-haired black/white cat from an animal welfare agency, and
she has become a part of our family that I grow to love more and more
each day.  But in a very real way, I am scarred for life over this.  In
a very real way, I will, never, ever get over losing Albert.  There
will always be a great emptiness in my heart whenever I think of him.
I will always love that little fellow, and my heart is with him
wherever he may be, dead or alive.

Good Night, Albert.  Your Dad & Mum love you and are thinking of
you...always.