Where O where did my pussycat go?

Lady Voledoomcat is a creature of considerable habit, to the extent that she can be relied upon to come and nag the Queen of the Chooks and her humble liege servant that it’s time for bed as soon as ten o’clock comes upon the evening skies (dominated to the south at this time of year by Orion’s starry belt and the singular eye of his greater dog). We long ago gave up the struggle to prevent her from joining us in the marital scratcher where she usually seeks to curl up between the two occupants, albeit on the other side of the duvet; she has a thing about being behind your knees, which is surprisingly comfortable.
The thing is, she is always at our feet when we reluctantly gather our wits in the grey dawn light, so, when she was absent this morning, it was a matter of some note in the household. PTC is the first to emerge from the pit, and usually enjoys a cup of tea and breakfast while checking news on the interweb-thingy; Lady V will come and sit on the paternal lap and warm the aging knees while the boiler struggles and coughs and clears the sleep from its pipes. This morning, a survey of the interior of The Chookery revealed a complete absence of feline presence and, when abluted and dressed for the delicate eyes of our public, she could not be found in the demesne either.
At this stage one tends to assume the worst, and a search of the road and verges was commenced in the vicinity of The Chookery, but no sign was found of our furry friend. I even climbed up into the old quarry opposite – where she is wont to hunt her prey – but again no sign. It was with a heavy heart that Her Maj and I went off to work this morning.
Still worried when we came home, I was more so when I noted that her food was untouched, but relieved when I went into the bedroom and found her in her usual place on the bed. She appears to be in good physical condition, but she is not her usual self and appears to have had a fright of some description. She accepted a large morsel of tinned tuna, so no concerns about her not eating, and has been spending the evening on the comfortable expanses of the regal lap.
We are rather relieved that the old mog is back in the bosom of her family and hope that she hasn’t been hurt in her absence from the household. Looking good so far, but we’ll keep our reader (Mrs Trellis of North Wales) posted on any news.

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