My wife Irene called me on the phone at about 7:00 am on Friday morning. This confused me: I was working from home and thus sleeping in until around 7:30, and Irene doesn’t normally leave for work until about 8:00 am. The morning brain-fog cleared a bit, though, when Irene explained that she was out walking our dog and calling from her cell. She had found a lost dog, and was bringing it home so we could call the SPCA, and could I please get the cats into the house?
Our cats aren’t supposed to be outside, but often a couple, usually Tux and Rommel, sneak out. This morning, however, four had made it out the door. I managed to get three back in, but Bilbo was no where to be found.
The strange dog was placed in our back yard: a Chow cross of some kind and a friendly dog. We called the SPCA, but they were backed up and wouldn’t be around until sometime in the afternoon. The lost dog spent the morning in our back yard.
We worried about Bilbo possibly coming back home and meeting this stranger. Its possible he might have done so- we don’t really know. But we didn’t see him, even after our temporary guest had been picked up. Darkness fell, and still no Bilbo. Both Irene and I did a walk about calling for BIlbo…and still nothing.
Irene went to Victoria the next morning to visit her parents. I kept calling for Bilbo periodically during the day, called the SPCA to report our missing Siamese, and went out for another lengthy walk in the evening, calling his name. Still no Bilbo…this was longer than he had ever been away. As darkness fell, I started watching a movie, pausing it every twenty minutes or so to go out back and call Bilbo again. By 10:00 PM, I was calling pretty quietly, and had some tears in my eyes- I didn’t want to lose Bill.
I went out one more time, at about 11:40 PM, and called quietly again, and this time I heard a quiet response- barely a whisper…Bilbo was back!
He’s sore and tired- I doubt he slept a wink during the 40 hours or so he was missing. It also looks like Bilbo got in a fight of some kind- we might have to take him to a vet. But he’s drinking and eating, and purring: that’s what counts.