Lost my cat

It's been a bad week. And I was on vacation.

It started out well enough. I spent the 4th in Santa Cruz with dear friends and their dear friends, singing the Star-Spangled Banner from the garage rooftop, watching amateur fireworks lit on the beach. Then it was down for a restful visit to the Tassajara Zen monastery in Carmel Valley. The weather was hot -- just like real summer - and there were cold plunges in the river, hiking to the windcaves, and hot tubs in the evening. Bliss.

Then I got home, and my world got complicated.

My cat Lindy is 4 years old and has lived with me the past two. She's cute, gray, fluffy, a medium-haired American cat with an attitude and heaps of charm. She's got four white paws -- "her go-go boots" my old neighbor used to call them -- and a "tuxedo", a goatee and bib in white. She likes to survey her domain from atop the steps. She likes to sleep on top of the armoire where the TV is stored. Or curled up in a little ball on the square of blanket on my bed. Or in her Scratch Lounge bed, with a good view of the stairs to eye any interlopers. Lindy ruled the roost, the 4th roommate who could get us all to do her bidding without saying a word.

There's still some hope she'll return. My neighbors -- who I'm talking to for the first time -- are all optimistic. I've put up fliers, and taped them to the sidewalk. I've followed up on leads, biking through Golden Gate Park at 5am, calling the cat. Lee called in response to the flier, told me about Lurline street, choc full of cats. I get 2-3 calls a day of people trying to help.

It's like that song, the cat came back, the very next day... I hope Lindy can return to us. The house isn't the same without her here.