Missing

Our white cat, Noelle, has been missing since Tuesday night. I was the one who let her out for her once-in-a-while front porch forays. She doesn't usually like to stay out there a long time; she prefers the security of the screened in back porch. But she had gone to the front door, mewing over her shoulder for me to follow her, and I let her out.

I forgot her. I went to bed, and Noelle stayed out all night. It was bitter cold that night. When we got up the next morning, a hard frost made the yard sparkle. When I realized what I'd done, I ran outside without my coat to call for her. It didn't take long for my hands to start to ache from the cold, and all I could think about was how her paw pads were so pink.

Robby and I spent most of the afternoons and nights that have followed calling for her---in the woods behind the house, in the overgrown tangle of Mimosa trees across the street, up and down our road. We've driven over to our old house several times in the hope that she got confused and headed for the old homestead. We've looked for a limp bundle of fur along the highway and have been grateful for its absence.

But she's still missing.

Well meaning friends have told me stories about cats who normally don't stray taking off for extended walkabouts and coming home just fine. They tell me not to give up. I'd settle for not tearing up at the sight of her litter box in the laundry room or her food and water dishes in the kitchen. I'd settle for not automatically glancing over into the spare room as I walk by with the expectation of seeing her belly-up on the bed. I'd settle for not going to the front door and peering through the kaleidoscope jumble of the leaded glass panes somewhere between five and twelve times a night.

I probably don't have to tell you how much I blame myself for what happened. I probably don't have to tell you about the what-ifs on constant playback loop in my head. I probably don't have to tell you that every time I walk past the Saint Francis statue in the flower bed, I whisper 'help' in his direction.

Maybe I should ask for Saint Anthony's help too; he's good with lost things.

Prayer for the Animals
by Albert Schweitzer

Hear our humble prayer, O God, for our friends, the animals.
Especially for animals who are suffering; for any that are
hunted or lost or deserted or frightened or hungry;
for all that must be put to death.
We entreat for them all Thy mercy and pity,
and for those who deal with them, we ask a
a heart of compassion and gentle hands and kindly words.
Make us, ourselves, to be true friends to animals,
and so to share the blessings of the merciful.