Our cat, Milly, went off for another of her adventures last week. She left her secure environment of our enclosed garden and set off down the high street who knows where. Her last escapade lasted 10 days, so we were not so unduly worried when the third morning arrived without sight of hide nor fur of her. If she has found a better billet, we thought, there’s nothing we can do to keep her here.
However, at a quarter to midnight last Friday, there came a great miaowing outside my bedroom window and there she was down below in the street. How she arrived at the right door that she had never seen before remains a mystery. An animal instinct like that of a homing pigeon perhaps.
So in she trots, the clever clogs, not so well groomed and glossy as last time. Maybe her previous hosts were away? She made her casual tour of inspection, pretended she wasn’t hungry and then, when we weren’t looking, mopped up the dish of food we had put out for her.
Of course we were pleased to see her, but also a little miffed. Losing a cat once might be regarded as a misfortune, as Lady Bracknell might have remarked, but losing her twice in two months looks like carelessness.
