Sunday was a hard day for our family. We woke up to a missing kitty. It was our fault. That hurts.
The night before we were saying good-bye to friends. It was chaos. Kids in and out. As the door opened I said, “Don’t let the cat out.” Too late. The cat was out. And she wasn’t coming back in.
“She’ll be ok” I was told. But, I retorted, “Bad things happen to kitties at night.”
We tried again but she was too busy climbing trees (she loves our big oak trees). I went to bed and assumed that Dad would call her in before he went to bed.
The next thing I know it was 7 in the morning and he was calling Hazel. No meows. No “What the heck took you so long” greetings that she welcomes us with everyday.
I jumped out of bed, threw clothes on and raced out the door. Four hours later we still hadn’t found her.
I slammed my fist in the wall. Because I knew.
Why didn’t I make the kids take her back into our bedroom until it was all quiet? Why didn’t I go out and get here? Why? Why? Why?
We can’t find her. Anywhere. We’ve looked all over the neighborhood. Neighbors have looked in their yards…under bushes.
It’s like she’s disappeared into the Kitty Vortex that exists in Hillsboro.
And we are beyond heartbroken.