Part of the usefulness of Twitter is that I can find out pretty quickly if something has happened to my beloved cat (previously referred to as Knight, Hak, Mordred, That Furry Bastard, Buttbrain, Bucky...etc... Generally whatever strikes me as a fun thing to yell at the beginning of GET OFF MY UNIFORM) through my sister's feed. She catblogs via Twitter, and of course is too impulsive to stop herself from bleeting out that the male cat escaped last night.
This after she urged me to give the cat to her because my mother would assuredly let the little beast slip to his dangerous freedom within the first week. My mother kept saying he'd try to find his way back to Oklahoma when I dropped him off there last summer. Since Ma was being a defeatist I agreed.
I figured he'd be fine since I had him for three years in a tiny apartment and he never once tried to bolt, despite my holding the door open while I paid the pizza guy. Should have known he wouldn't like my sister as much as me.
I'm not mad at her. Yet.
Hunger might set in still. He might come scratching around the screen door soon. I hope he does. He might be okay on his own, but I can't replace him. He's too perfect for me. Friendly, likes to be picked up and carried around, enjoys chasing pacing people, talkative, adventurous, dumb, amusingly clumsy... All the best cat traits.
Anyway, if you're in the Endless Mountains area and you see a big black cat that's wandering around (probably bumping into things) wearing a green collar (it had better still be green) and an expression on his face like Kyle Rayner's first week in outer space, be nice to him. He's a sweetheart.
EDIT: He's back.