No Never! No More!

Ah songs lyrics! And even worse my Folk Club days are showing. But even though it is just past 4 am life has taken an optimistic turn with the return of the "Wild Rover". I woke at 4 convinced (again) that I had heard her distinctive cry. I had retired early and wasn't especially surprised. I dismissed the idea that Little Mad was outside the bedroom the window because it seemed ludicrous think that she would be able to recognise the house out of many similar ones and considering that she had made good her escape via the rear. Besides my dreams have always had a strong aural element....

When I heard the cry again I was galvanised. Could it really be her? I had come close to giving up yesterday. My seventy two hour deadline had been and gone and my dear former neighbour, D has no news either other than to report with sour amusement some of the fanciful gossip that has bloomed in the wake of my departure. We laughed over a coffee at the follies of human frailties as W's dinner cremated itself — forgotten — in the kitchen. Oops....

On my way back home I loitered outside two different pet stores. A little one in The Land Time Forgot and a mall based giant; just looking, is all. Should have stocked up on cat food though but my superstitious roots suspect that would have soured the fermenting good fortune.

I dressed hastily in a pair of jeans and a sloppy sweatshirt and headed for the front door. As it opened I caught sight of four white socks scuttling down the flight of steps that lead down to the road between the roses and I heard a familiar wheezy croak of feline surprise. I mde my trademark sqeak and waited. There came and answering meep and I squeaked again and Little Mad appeared out of the pre-dawn gloom, ignored me entirely and rushed past into the living room presumably to double check that she had the right premises.

After rubbing her cheeks against a few familiar corners she seemed content and, turning her attentions to me, she accepted some happy scoldings and ear-scratchings and agreed that she was, indeed, a jolly clever cat to have found her way home. (Although a part of me wants to think she had passed the preceeding nights mewling outside the bedroom windows of every house in the 'hood until she found the right one. That scenario would be more in keeping with her, undeserved, reputation for crackpot behaviour, but I don't suppose she'll be apt to tell me and I doubt I'm likley to get evidence from any other sources.)

One thing I am certain of is that she doesn't appear to care a fig either for my own concerns nor for the wider concerns of the blogoshpere. The tidings that her welfare had become a matter of concern in several different time zones had no discernible effect as she calmly despatched a bowlful of food. Enough for now, she has decided my lap looks like a comfy place and this lap ain't big enough for Mirelly Lyra and a laptop computer.

Perhaps later I shall be able to concentrate on finishing the tale of the interview in the police station.