Truman didn't come home last night. He left the house in the morning, as we left to take the kids to a sleepover. We didn't think much of it.
We didn't see him all day, come to think of it, as we were in and out of the house a lot during the day. After dinner it dawned on us that something might be wrong. Every 30 minutes one of us would go to the front door and call for him.
Nothing.
Today I was at work, but called home at noon to see if he'd turned up yet. Nope. The wiffer had driven around the neighborhood a little, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, or at least a corpse, maybe get a little closure. I wondered what was worse, him getting run over, or him being locked up in somebody's basement, the subject of grotesque little Frankencat experiments. My mind did run a little wild.
The kids were home when I got off work today, and they were going on about how they missed Truman. Lexi said we should go to the pet store and get another pet and name him Truman. Suddenly, out the back door, we hear a meow! There he was, just as if nothing had happened.
A minute later there was a knock at the front door. The lady from next door was apologizing, saying Truman was locked in her car's trunk. I think she had been unloading groceries and he jumped inside. That's her story anyway. I didn't see any stitches or electrical burns, but I wouldn't be too surprised to learn she'd been at least experimenting a little on the poor fella.
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