#oneaday Day 726: False hope

We have run into a ginger cat in the area where our caller yesterday reported seeing him (we think it was a "him" anyway) — both at night and, just now, in the daytime, and unfortunately, it was not Oliver. This cat was a very good cat, and quite friendly — though also a tad skittish — but it became clear before long that it wasn't our little boy.

We were extremely torn when we came across him last night, as the darkness made it difficult to see him clearly, and obviously, looking out, as we are, for a young ginger cat and then suddenly seeing one… well, you want to hope for the best, don't you? Both of us were feeling such desperation to see Oliver again that we were both having serious doubts about whether or not this cat, standing in front of us, was our special little man. Regretfully, we left him to it, as it looked like his home was somewhere near where we were looking — and when I ran into him earlier today, in the daytime, when it was much easier to see, I confirmed that it wasn't him. It didn't stop me involuntarily gasping when I first saw him come around the corner… but that hope was quickly dashed.

All this, of course, doesn't mean that he's not still out there somewhere, but it does mean that our one promising-seeming lead turned out to be unhelpful, and that is immensely demoralising. Andie is near-inconsolable right now, and I'm pretty sure if I stop Doing Things I will get into a similar state. That's why I went out on the trip where I ran into our ginger friend earlier; I can't just sit here and do nothing.

I'm gradually spreading the word online. Turns out there are quite a few places online where you can report missing pets, and not just Facebook. Some of these places want you to pay a bit, but the cost is primarily for them making a social media ad and then "boosting" it on your behalf. Don't worry, I researched all these places thoroughly before giving them any details. Naturally they want to try and reassure you that they have a solid success rate at this sort of thing, but we're both finding it very difficult right now.

Why hasn't he come home? Where has he gone? Is he hurt? Is he — and this is, of course, the one that hurts the most to consider — even still alive? The absolute worst thing about all this is not knowing. The one faint hope I cling to is that there are so many reports of cats that wandered off one evening and came back about 5-7 days later as if nothing had happened. I am hoping beyond hope that this is what will happen with Oliver — though it would be nice if he'd consider doing this a bit sooner.

As I say, the worst thing is not knowing, because it means I don't know how I should be feeling. Should I be hopeful? Should I be worried? Should I be sad? Should I be angry? Should I give up? Or should I keep believing that it'll all work out, somehow.

Unfortunately, bitter life experience has taught me that it does not, in fact, always work out, somehow. And thus, once again, we continue. Because that's all we can do.

I'm sorry this is all I'm talking about at the moment. But this is all I can think about at the moment.

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#oneaday Day 725: A spark of hope

Oliver still hasn't come back. We are, of course, still extremely worried and upset, and this is made all the more difficult by the fact that Patti has clearly realised something is wrong, too. She is very obviously looking around to try and find him, and earlier she let out an absolutely plaintive wail of a meow that made my heart absolutely break. I know, Patti. I want to make noises like that, too. But there is, at least, a faint spark of hope.

We've previously posted Oliver's picture and details on some local Facebook pages — the one thing Facebook is actually still vaguely useful for — and earlier today we took around a bunch of flyers to the houses and flats in the nearby vicinity. In the mid-afternoon I got a call from someone down the road; they weren't sure it was Oliver, but they had definitely seen a ginger cat on their back wall recently, and thought that he was "a very friendly chap".

Now, we're trying not to get our hopes up too much, because we know there is another ginger cat in the neighbourhood. The lady who called sounded like she hadn't seen the cat she saw before, however, which leads me to believe that it might, just might have been Oliver. There's also the fact that Andie has apparently encountered "the other ginger cat" and said that it was rather skittish as opposed to friendly; Oliver, meanwhile, has always got along with absolutely everyone he meets, and the personality of the cat our caller described very much sounded like him.

So we have not given up. We cannot give up. I refuse to give up. My heart is battered and bruised and broken from the last few days, and it is difficult to derive any joy from anything. But I cannot give up. I will not give up. He must be out there somewhere, and all we need to do is bring him home.

I do not yet know how we are going to do that, or indeed where he is. But this one little happening today helped me feel just one little spark of hope about the whole situation, and that is something that has been sorely needed since late on Sunday night.

I, of course, do not know how this particular episode of our lives is going to turn out. There is always the possibility that it will end in tragedy, and that is something I don't think I am prepared for. But, as my therapist has said to me on multiple occasions now, I am a survivor, and while I have faced many hardships on life's journey to date, I have made it through all of them so far.

I don't want to have to keep being a survivor, though. I want things to be nice, and happy, and free of worry, and neat. Life, however, is far from neat; simple existence is one of the messiest things imaginable, and I have not yet figured out how — or even if it's possible — to tidy it up.

And so, we continue. For now, we continue, not knowing. Tonight we will walk the streets once again in search of our beloved little man. And tomorrow is another day, whatever that might bring.

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#oneaday Day 724: Our cat is missing

Last night, one of the many "worst nightmare" situations a pet owner can encounter occurred: we realised that one of our beloved cats, the 3-year old ginger Oliver, was not anywhere to be seen. He often roams around the house a bit when it comes to our bedtime, so I wasn't initially concerned; I can usually find him if I go and poke about a bit. He's not a "hider" by any means; in fact, at the witching hour, he's normally playing around. He is an indoor cat, though, so aside from his enclosed "catio" in the back garden, which he can access via a cat flap, he's not allowed out.

I became worried when I couldn't find him as quickly as I normally do, and he wasn't responding to me calling him. And thus our only conclusion is that somehow, he managed to escape, quite possibly through one of the windows we had open for ventilation. We obviously don't like to think he'd be dumb enough to fling himself out of an upstairs window, but he is a very curious boy and we have caught him sticking his head out for a look on more than one occasion.

We searched the house, including all the hiding spots we knew of. Our other cat, Patti, very much is a hider, and thus we have a pretty good understanding of the various nooks and crannies a cat can potentially get into in our house. He didn't appear to be in any of them — and he's the sort of cat who, if he got stuck somewhere, I feel would probably make some noise, particularly if we were calling for him and shaking a packet of treats.

We also checked our home security cameras, and saw that he went upstairs at just before 10.30PM. The cameras did not appear to record him coming down again, leading us to believe that he is either upstairs (seemingly unlikely, as our search would suggest) or he went out one of the upstairs windows that a cat could squeeze through with a bit of effort. The cameras could have just missed him, of course, but they're generally pretty good at catching both him and Patti.

So we did what cat owners do in this situation, and we didn't go to bed for a long time, taking a couple of wanders around the neighbourhood in the hope that we might either find him or be able to coax him out. We eventually called it a night at well after 2AM, as we both had to work in the morning and we thought we should probably at least try and get some sleep. (That didn't really happen.)

We got up again about 5AM for another look around — again, no sign of him. Or at 9AM, either. In some ways, this is mildly reassuring; we hadn't found him injured (or worse) anywhere, which leads me to the optimistic conclusion — I have to be optimistic, I have to be — that he's gone and got himself locked in someone's shed, garage, greenhouse or whatever. We've done another few "rounds" throughout the day, reported his microchip number as missing (so if someone turns him in to a vet or cat shelter or something, they can get him back to us) and posted on a few local Facebook groups. Nothing as yet, and we are both despairing.

Oliver is such a precious little boy. He is everything to us. (Apart from the bit of everything that belongs to Patti, who is also everything to us.) I feel sick to my stomach (quite literally; I've barely eaten anything all day) not knowing where he is, whether he's hurt, whether he's scared, whether he's trapped or anything really. As I say, I have to remain optimistic; I have to just tell myself that this is something that sometimes happens when you have cats — I've spoken to a lot of people who have been through this experience today, with some being left not knowing what to think for months — and I cannot, will not give up hope on my precious little boy.

It's just the absolute worst that this has happened during both a stressful time at work, and just before Andie and I are going away on holiday. The last thing we want while we're supposed to be away relaxing is not knowing what has happened to one of our beloved pets — members of our family.

If you happen to be in the Southampton area, particularly around Lordswood, here's a flyer we're going to put through some doors tomorrow. If, by some fortuitous combination of circumstances, you happen to see him, please get in touch.

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#oneaday Day 422: Escape artist

We were quite surprised during dinner to see the outline of our cat, Oliver, on the other side of our living room window. Oliver is an indoor cat but has a curiosity about the outside world, so Andie built him (and Patti) a catio out the back so he can stay safe and secure while still being able to enjoy the feeling of being outside.

The concern we have is, as you might expect, exactly how the little bugger managed to get out, given that there are no windows open downstairs, and I'm pretty sure the only window we have open upstairs is the one we stick the air conditioning hose out of. This, to me, suggests that he jumped out of an upstairs window and, via some means that isn't yet entirely clear, made it down to our lounge window.

Thankfully, we got him to come back in without any difficulty, but this is, of course, a little worrying, particularly since we've kept all our cats inside ever since we lost Ruby on the road some years ago. He's never done this before, and we think he only did it this time because he saw another cat out the front and wanted to go and meet them — although, hilariously, despite this other cat being a pretty small, young thing, he seemed to be quite frightened of it — but still, it's obviously not behaviour we're particularly keen to encourage.

LIVE UPDATE! Andie has just checked our security camera footage, and it transpires that he just snuck out behind me when I was putting some things in the outside bin. He went out just as I was closing the door and I didn't notice, so he ended up shut out the front. Thankfully, it was only for a few minutes, and he seemingly knew that the front window was a good place to get our attention. So clever him, but also naughty him for sneaking out when he knows he's not allowed out the front!

Well, all's well that ends well, I guess. At least now I don't have to have a sleepless night worrying if he's going to fling himself out of a second-storey window because he saw something interesting outside. And hopefully he learned something from this whole experience.

Who am I kidding? He's a cheeky little cat, is what he is. He will have learned nothing from this. But it doesn't matter. I love the stupid little dickhead anyway.

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#oneaday Day 393: Howling in a box

It was Patti the cat's annual checkup and vaccinations today, which meant we had the always-heartbreaking task of putting her in The Box and then listening to her howl all the way to the vet's.

Cats have got it sorted. They know exactly the right noises to make to have an emotional impact, and while of course they don't have "words" in the same way we do, they are absolutely capable of communicating, both through sound and through action.

Thankfully, Patti's checkup was all fine, and the one arguably fortunate side effect of her not liking trips to the vets (or people other than us, generally) is that she behaves herself while she's there. Okay, yes, the fact it's because she's paralysed with fear makes me feel awful every time, but at least she doesn't react like our dearly departed Meg, who was such a troublesome patient she had a note on her file. I always found this kind of hilarious, because at home she was always the sweetest thing, and she enjoyed company, including strangers.

Oliver, meanwhile, has had nothing but good visits to the vet to date. He of course does not like being in The Box, as no cat does, and he of course let's out the plaintive howls of heartbreak on the way, but once at the vets, he's always sociable, friendly and extremely susceptible to treats.

Patti has, I think, forgiven us for today's trauma, because as I type this she's sitting on me, occasionally making a point of reminding me she's there. I know you're there, Patti; you are precious family and I will always be here for you.

Anyway, I've had a few drinks, I'm tired, I'm hot, and Patti has got one of her claws stuck in my pants. So I think I probably better leave that there!

#oneaday Day 24: I Love My Cats

As probably already very apparent from numerous previous posts, I love my cats. Having cats is one of the greatest pleasures of my adult life. Yes, even when they do this. Of course, it is always heartbreaking when you have to say goodbye, particularly when that parting comes far too soon, but that heartbreak is a sign of all the wonderful times you shared together.

So today I am going to share my cats, because why the hell not.

This is Patti:

And this is Oliver:

Both of them have very strong personalities. We've not known Oliver for that long in the grand scheme of things, since we got him a little while after Meg left us, but he's already settled in very well and is extremely comfortable here.

Patti, meanwhile, has always been a very nervous cat and I suspect she always will be, but she's very happy when she can spend time with just us. She doesn't like strangers and she doesn't like changes to the routine; she likes life to be normal, straightforward and free of surprises. I can relate.

Patti, we suspect, didn't have the best start to life. All we knew when we got her from a local rescue was that she had been "abandoned" by her previous owner, but we didn't know the circumstances surrounding that. Surprisingly, she took very well to us almost immediately, but it was also very apparent that she hadn't really had anyone to teach her how to "cat" properly. There were certain things she'd do that were just a little bit "off" from how most cats do things — she didn't struggle with anything, as such, but she just behaved like she'd never really been able to quite finish her initial socialisation process.

And given her background, that was understandable. When we got her, she was a tiny little thing. We suspect she was younger than the shelter thought she was, because she's grown a lot since those days. And while she occasionally plays up a bit due to lingering stress (or possibly even trauma) she is the most lovely thing, and a delight to have around.

Oliver, meanwhile, came to us in a somewhat different way. After Meg passed, we gave it a little while to see how Patti coped, but it felt like she wanted some company, and we both missed the company of having two cats around the house. Unfortunately, post-COVID it had become very difficult to add an additional cat to an existing household in our circumstances; whereas pre-2020 you could go in to the shelter, meet the various cats who were there and talk with the people who ran the place, post-COVID you had to submit a written application and you couldn't just show up and negotiate or explain your personal circumstances.

As such, my wife Andie decided to look for private sales. We saw a few possibilities, but got slightly bad vibes from one, so we politely excused ourselves from that situation. Then a suitable-looking candidate came up, but by the time Andie enquired, he had already been sold to someone. We were becoming a little frustrated by the situation, but we kept looking.

Two weeks later, Andie saw a familiar-looking cat listed. He had a different name, but he definitely looked familiar. We enquired about him, and indeed it seemed like the present owner had only bought him two weeks previously; unfortunately, she had discovered in that time that she was allergic to cats, so regretfully had to let him go. This time around, we were able to secure him and bring him home.

For the first couple of weeks, he was a pain. Constantly yowling from the other room, being a little aggressively dominant towards Patti, and worst of all, pissing on everything. We knew he hadn't been neutered before picking him up, but we didn't realise quite what a problem that could be, particularly with another cat in the house. As a priority, we made arrangements for him to have the snip and just stuck things out until then. We also made sure Patti got plenty of love and attention during this time.

Thankfully, after he was "done", Oliver became a thoroughly lovely cat. He's very friendly — though he hasn't quite graduated to Patti's level of "bed cuddles" yet — and extremely curious. He's also a cheeky little bugger; on more than one occasion we've caught him fishing food packets out of the bin, and he stole and ripped open a bag of treats on one occasion, too. He likes to eat.

Patti very much wasn't sure about him at first. She'd keep her distance, hiss and growl at him. But over time, her reaction to him softened somewhat. She'd allow him to approach a little more before hissing, and the growling stopped. Eventually, the hissing stopped, too (unless he does something to really piss her off) and now the two seem to be actual friends, which is wonderfully heartwarming to see.

Patti and Meg got along, but Meg was always a grumpy cat — she even had a note on her vet's file that she was uncooperative and angry — and as such, despite clearly liking Patti (she'd come looking for her if she didn't know where she was) she'd keep her a bit at arm's length. Patti and Oliver are, I think, becoming quite close; there's still a bit of mistrust on Patti's part for entirely understandable reasons, but Oliver has always wanted to be her friend, and that hasn't changed even with his horny bits being removed.

I love them both very much, just as I still love Meg, Ruby and my childhood cats Kitty and Penny. The cats I have known will forever be a precious part of my family, and those who are no longer with us will always have a place in my heart.

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