anef

Hoorah!

(This is actually Michael writing the post, as Anne has gone to bed, being more sensible than me.)

Now I've given away the happy ending (and without even a spoiler warning!), humour me a little as I run through the last few days. There had been no sign of Freddy or Raffles since we went away for a couple of days last weekend. Anne spent most of her time over the last few days leafleting, sticking up posters, and knocking on doors to ask people if they've seen anything. With limited success, because a lot of people were away for the half-term holiday. (This is called Foreshadowing! Admire it!) On Friday someone rang up to say they'd seen the two cats in C--- Avenue, about a quarter of a mile away from us. This is a little bit further away than we'd been searching so far, but not much. So this morning Anne put up posters along C--- Avenue, and then went off for a cycle ride. After lunch, I spent half an hour rattling cat crunchies at the innocent undergrowth of C--- Avenue, but then I had to go to Sainsburys.

Anne came back from the cycle ride in a fearsome state: the same man had rung her again (on her mobile) to say he had actually caught one of our cats, and was keeping it for us. So we hared over there in the car, with gloves, and cat boxes, and cat treats, and we knocked on the door... And there was a charming little tabby, about 70% of the size of Freddie (who is in turn smaller than Raffles). "Ah," we said. "Thank you so much anyway." We also said "You can't tell how big they are from the poster, can you?" We didn't say "This cat appears to have spots, unlike ours," because it would have been unfair, and the poster isn't that clear, and also, we would much rather they erred on the side of catching cats for us to look at than leaving them running around.

So we all let the cat out, and it wandered off, recovering its dignity in seconds. We took a little longer to recover our equilibrium. They were very nice people anyway, and we will buy them a little "thank you for trying" present.

"I don't think hanging around in C--- Avenue helped much," I said.

"Nothing helps until the thing that does," said Anne wisely.

So when Anne went to bed at about 10:15, we were still catless. I was just washing up when I heard Anne's phone ring (at about 11pm), and I got to it in time to hear a message: "We think we have your cats. We've been away for a week, and we've just got back, and found them hiding in a bedroom."

I got Anne up, after her bedtime. (Normally, this is frowned upon, but the circumstances were exceptional.) These people live just thirty yards away, so this time we walked over with gloves and cat boxes. (I forgot the cat treats, but it wasn't too onerous to go back and get them.)

And yes, there under a child's bunk bed, were both our missing cats, staring out at us. The lovely people had put some milk down, and Freddie was lapping at it, but Raffles was obviously much too traumatised to do anything. (This is not as bad as it sounds - Raffles traumatises very easily.)

"We were going to call the RSPCA," said one of these lovely people, "because one of them looks a little fatigued. But luckily, there was a poster right outside our house."

"That wasn't that lucky," I remarked, "There are an awful lot of posters out there." We also said "Thank you" a lot and "We're so sorry for your trouble" a lot.

Apparently these people went away last weekend, locking up behind them. They got back this morning, but R and F stayed completely hidden until they were spotted at bedtime - untrusting little so-and-sos that they are, being rescued ferals. I assume that while our neighbours were packing, toing and froing with suitcases, they left the front door open long enough for R and F to sneak in for what I am sure they intended to be a short exploration.

So they were not, in fact, gallivanting around the place terrorising the wildlife and hiding from builders. They had got themselves shut in instead, which is less fun. It does prove what we always suspected, that they go off and have adventures together like Jennings and Darbishire. It's probably a good thing that they had each other for company, instead of just one of them being shut in alone. (By the way, Freddie is Jennings, being basically fearless.)

The lucky break was that the bunk beds were high enough off the floor that Anne could squirm under and pull the cats out (having pacified them a little with milk and cat crunchies), and we popped them into the baskets and got them back home. They are now shut in the spare room with litter tray, water, and a little bit of food, behind a sign saying "No entry to builders, please!". So that's two presents we have to buy neighbours. (Also, we have a lot of posters to take down.)

Ten minutes later, Izzy swanned in through the catflap looking glum, and more-or-less did a double take with her nose. She went to Raffles's cat basket (which he had of course peed in) and sniffed it - and I'm sure just the smell of fresh Raffles cheered her up.

We are, of course, enormously relieved. I'm told cats have survived being locked in a garage for two weeks, so I'm reasonably certain that they'll recover physically, though Raffles will undoubtedly complain a lot. Anne's already phoned the 24-hour vet helpline, confirming that she's done the right things so far, and we'll see if they need a vet trip later this week.

I'm sure Anne will post with more news soon. Now I'm going to bed too.