I WAS distressed to read in last week’s celebratory 6,500th issue (congrats!) about the case of the missing cat.
It reminded me very much of the time I lost my cat, because both of the stories involve cat loss. My cat was called Scrambles; he was one leg short of a full bushel of four legs, like most cats have, and there was always an ethereal vacancy in his expressions, but perhaps that was just down to his lazy eye.
Regardless of this, he was a fine steed. I lived in Nuneaton at the time, and I wrote to the local rag there when Scrambles went missing. The local people all rallied together, and Scrambles was soon recovered, although he was never the same again – I think he saw some very bad things.
We have since moved to the area, but our relationship is still not what it was. His sunny, cheery disposition had been replaced with a sullen defeatist outlook, and before going missing Scrambles had a fine pelt of glorious black fur, but upon his return it had faded to grey with white patches.
Also, his leg had grown back.
I hope you find your cat, but I warn you, the cat you get back isn’t always the one you had before.