It could be “Urt.” One of us is wrong. But our little cats (they are pretty fair sized now) say, “Urk.” After they, “Urk,” they jump up on my lap for a hug. The weaving guild met in our house. I made ginger carrot soup and sweet potato chips. They were bringing their own lunches but I made soup and chips anyway. (I was showing off my cooking skill.) After they left I did an inventory of the five – count ‘em – five cats. I found four right away. They are usually shy around strangers and disappear until the coast is clear.
Oh no! Feather was missing. We looked high and low, in and out, up and down, inside every closet and cupboard, and under every bed and sofa. And we did it again and again. I concluded that Feather had gone out the door. We put the litter box outside for her to follow the scent home. I rode my bicycle up and down the neighborhood while whistling. (I’m sure some of the neighbors took note of the demented old guy whistling randomly.) No luck! Damn. I was pretty heartbroken. I was prepared for the worst. Four of the five cats were accounted for and they, too, were all looking as concerned about the missing Feather. And then… she appeared – in their midst. She went about as though there were no big deal. The little brat! We don’t know where she’d been hiding. At least she’s still home, safe and sound.
Now we have a boarder. Marshall is staying the weekend. His adopted name is Archie but he answers to Marshall. The cats do not like dogs – bad past experiences. Patch is bigger than Marshall; he doesn’t care. Marshall is half blind; takes drugs for his glaucoma; steroids and cream for his allergies and rash; has drugs for ear itch; and takes vitamins and pills several times a day. I shall call him “Lucky” while he stays with us.