I've been spending a good chunk of time moping around, and sighing. Watching the empty doorway, and willing a certain little black and white cat to show up. The living room curtains were opened early in the morning, and left open until long after it got dark.
Bootsie has been gone for almost two weeks, and frankly neither of us were dealing with it very well. He was very sick again and we can only assume that he is being kept inside during his convalescence.
We diligently checked the potting bench many times a day, and watched the patio flooring for signs of little wet paw prints. Nothing.
Until last night, when his highness finally showed up, demanding attention and food, as if nothing had happened.
I missed him since I was working late, and have been checking the door for my prodigal kitty every 10 minutes, all day long. Not much else gets done.
Finally today I heard a faint scratching on the patio windows. Jumping up, my heart singing, I quickly let his highness in. A big cuddle was enjoyed more by me than the squirming bundle of inpatient kitty. Then we were off to discover what delights lay in wait for him in the fridge.
He is battle scarred, but he looks none the worse for wear, and seems to be up to his old haunts again. Sitting on the potting bench, surveying his kingdom, until he headed off to the next place on his route.