Grey

Last night on the way home from work I got an unexpected phone call from an old friend; Fudge may have been spotted.

After an about an hour and seconds after my friends left I spoke to a woman walking her dog and was paused mid-sentence when for the first time in eight days I saw her. I coaxed her close for a long time until I was a foot away from the her but any time I moved to catch her she ran off. The fact that she would not come to me surprised me and though the colouring of the cat appeared the same her mouth was dark, which I thought may have been due to an injury, but still this made me doubt.

This morning Michelle and I went back the street she was seen, having left the night before after several unsuccessful attempts to grab her. We were 99% sure the cat was Fudge but almost as soon as we entered the street we came face to face with her again. Same long hair, same dark mouth, but grey. The yellow street lighting had changed the appearance of the cats colouring so much that even close up I was 99% sure it was Fudge.

As we had had that small doubt in our minds as to the cats identity in the first place Michelle and I had tried not to get our hopes up, but it would be a lie to say that we were not all but convinced that we had found our Fudge.

We are so grateful to our friends for looking and hope that they do not feel they got our hopes up needlessly. As I said before - even Michelle and I were close to 100% sure the cat was Fudge. We are very touched that you care so much.

Gone

This morning I woke up realising that there was little more I could do to find Fudge. Michelle and I along with the help of family and friends have searched for days in every direction possible. We have posted leaflets and put up posters offering a £100 reward. We have phone everyone we could phone four or five times and been told over and over again that there is no information on where Fudge could be.

Nobody has picked her up. Nobody helpful has phoned in repose to the posters (We've had two "prank" calls), Nobody has seen any trace of her since Tuesday night. 5 days have passed and there is no trace.

We have heard many stories of lost cats returning after days, weeks, even months but neither of us, Michelle or I, is convinced that this will be the case with Fudge. We still have a hope of course, but it is small and fading.

Fudge does not venture outside. She is not a hunter. She is not used to living in the open. She is timid and she would be afraid of anyone who approached her. The likelihood that she could survive outside for this long is slim.

Many may think it is ridiculous to that Michelle and I are so affected by Fudges disappearance, especially in light of the imminent birth of our son, but she is our cat.

Our cat who would watch for us coming home from the window before running to meet us at the door. Our cat who followed us around the house. Our cat who loved to eat a little bit of cake (especially coconut). Our cat who would purr so loudly just because she was near us. Our cat who we miss so much.
Our cat who is gone.

Missing

A little over 5 years ago I was asked if I would mind if Michelle was given a cat for her birthday. I wasn't overly keen on the idea but didn't want to be so mean as to say no.
A few days later we went to a house in Maryhill and picked up a long haired tabby kitten, which Michelle would later name Fudge.

I was completely uninterested in Fudge and went to the pub almost as soon as we brought her home. When I came in that night she was locked in our kitchen, scratching and mewing to get out. As soon as I opened the door she bolted right out and into the newly bought litter tray. That the little cat had been too proud the relieve herself on our newspaper covered kitchen floor duly impressed me and so I decided that shutting her in anywhere was counterproductive.

While I was happy not to keep her shut the kitchen I was determined that she would not be sleeping in the bedroom. No chance. Never.

At that time there was no latch on our bedroom door and so the only way to keep Fudge out was to block the door with my dumbbells. Obviously, if you have seen my massive arms, you can assume that these weights were far too heavy for a tiny baby kitten to move. In fact in order to get through a door blocked by these weights a tiny cat would have to fling herself repeatedly against the door in a single minded endeavour to do so; which is exactly what Fudge did.

Being the magnanimous person that I am (nothing to do with Fudge giving me no choice of course) I decided that she may sleep in the bedroom after all, in her own bed on the floor, never on our

bed. No chance. Never... Ah forget it!

Five years later and I now cannot settle in bed without Fudge at my feet. In fact when Fudge is in bed before me I will actually ease myself into bed so that I don't disturb her. I have indeed become a sad cat person.

At night she sometimes carries a little soft toy to bed in her mouth and sits and cleans it before she settles (something Michelle, a lifetime cat owner has never seen or heard of). In the morning she shouts impatiently as Michelle or I put out her breakfast. During the days and evenings she lays by our sides on the couch and whenever we leave a room Fudge is sure to quickly follow. Our little puppy cat. Our companion.

Fudge went missing just after 6pm on Tuesday 20th July. She is for the most part a house cat who never strays further than the grass outside our flat, for her to disappear is the last thing we ever expected. Since she's been gone I have walked the streets for hours searching, chapped on neighbours doors, phoned everyone that can be phoned and posted notices on surrounding bus stops. She hasn't eaten in 32 hours and the rain has rarely stopped coming down. There is little more we can do than wait at the point. All the while fearing that we may never stop waiting. That we may never see Fudge again. That she will always remain missing.

And yet, I cannot believe that. not Fudge. She may be timid but she is, as I have evidenced here, determined and single minded. If she is lost she will find her way home. If she has been taken she will escape. She will come home. I believe this. I have to believe this. I have to see my cat again. I have to see my Fudge again.

Onyway...

Michelle and I had parenting classes this week. The classes are split into two sessions - an hour with the physiotherapist and an hour with the midwife.

There were a few people in the class: A girl with her mother, a woman on her own, an obnoxious couple, and a very young couple.

Of the mother and daughter team the mother seemed to adamant that we all realise that she too had been pregnant at one point. During each segment of advice she would exclaim "Oh ah remember that" or "Ah don't miss that, Ah cin tell ye." after which the physio would pause and briefly acknowledge her with the strained politeness of a public servant.

The physio herself, who's name quite rudely escapes me, was a lovely woman, though when she spoke to the woman who came alone she did so in the same tone that you might use to speak to a small lost child: condescendingly gentle.

The next couple were nice enough though, as I said they were quite obnoxious by which I mean they (mostly the gentleman of the two) were simply a little louder and more self confident than Michelle and myself. That being said it did raise a few eyebrows when the midwife asked how the ladies were sleeping and he said that she tossed and turned so often that he sent her to the couch (His partner, quite meekly and clearly embarrassed, quickly clarified that she sleeps better there).

The young couple were pleasant and young. They earned a few unsure looks from the teachers when the class were being told of things that would happen just before labour started. After each segment of information the girl would speak up and tell us all that she thought these things had happened to her over the last few days. The third or fourth time this happened I half expected her waters to break right at that very moment.

Lastly there was Sandra, the midwife from Larkhall (a fact which she imparted several times). She was good; informal without being unprofessional and informative without being condescending. Often times when giving her advice she deviate from her initial point and tell a wee story in a kind of Billy Connolly-esque way. After each segway in conversation she would then return to her original point by saying "Onyway..." which I think is Larkhall for 'anyway' and the first time I'd ever heard the word pronounced that way.

Onyway... The classes were quite good. While they never really presented much information that we hadn't read about, it was reassuring to hear the advice from someone you could speak to rather than Heidi Murkoff.

4 week, 2 days to go.

'Till then.