No Natasha yet, although late last night there was a development. Just as I was about to go to bed, a neighbor knocked on my door. She told me she had just seen my cat, and her husband was watching her as we speak. I threw on some clothes, and dashed outside. By then, Nash (if it was her) had slipped away, though, for she had disappeared. It surprised the husband, who was dilligently watching the car she ran under, but I was not surprised. Remember, this cat is an expert at avoiding people.
As I walked back to my apartment to get a flashlight, I did see a furry shape dash across the parking lot into the bushes near to the construction site next door. I searched the bushes, but to no avail. I retired a half-hour later, with thorny hands but higher hopes. My wonderful neighbors said that other people in the complex had seen her earlier in the week as well.
I am feeling much more optimistic, so I am sticking with the idea that it was her. This means a) she is alive and b) she is very close. Much better than my worried imagination scenarios.
It made me happy enough to forgoe canvassing the nearby animal shelters this afternoon in favor of high tea with Janelle and her friends. It was a last hurrah before her wedding this weekend, and it was delightful. Yes, I was dressed in a black pageboy wig, black clothes, and heavy black eyeliner (today was my annual poetry reading session in my English classes), while the others were in British lady's clothes. I donned my beret, and joined them with a set of gloves and was pronounced the French friend that rounded out their British trio.
Tea was served at the Grand America hotel downtown. It was delicious, elegant, and rather European.
I shall go out again at sunset tonight to search again. Here's hoping!
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