Lost

On Sunday, we were running errands, in and out through the day. At one point, we realized we could not find Moby. And could not clearly remember the last time we'd seen him. Checked all the usual places. Then all the unusual places. Then systematically went over every inch. Then went outside, then around the neighborhood, several times. After about an hour, we sat in the spare room and contemplated a life without Moby. Putting up signs, hoping whoever had him would have him checked for a microchip.

D decided to sit on the front porch, hoping Moby would be able to find his way back after a nap under a bush. I decided to look one more place that I thought I'd checked.

The back "porch" certainly used to be a porch. Then it got enclosed at some point, probably in the 30s or 50s, shoddily. It's unheated, the sun and elm seeds pour through the gaps. One day, we'd like to do a major renovation on it, when we have a small pile 'o cash. For now, the left behind paint, guitar cases, cables and suchlike sit on the left behind ikkea, ankle biting, coffee table. Covered in a recycled blue surgical instrument wrapper.



I got down, and looked under one more time.



I called out, with my head still on the floor, upside down. "Guess who I found."

Cat said. What? I like it here, it's private. I wasn't lost, I knew where I was.

He's been there most of today as well. In fairness, it is because of his preference for under that suggested his name. And this is a very good under.