I don't know where she is.

I went out to move my sister's car in the driveway last night, and out to the garage another time, but I'm positive I closed the doors behind me each time I left. But this morning we could not find Harley. Anywhere.

We scoured every, single inch of the house. Every cupboard, every drawer, every closet. The garage, the shower, the clothes dryer. Under chairs, through the basement, in spaces I know she couldn't fit.

She was in none of them.

Harley doesn't just hide. Ever. She's an attention whore who needs attention at all times. And now that I think about it, I remember thinking it odd that she wasn't crawling all over me as I sprawled on the bedroom floor between push-ups before bed.

I don't know where she is. Amber is still looking. I am sick about it, and I don't want to talk about it.

I just want to go home and find her there. And I don't know if I will.



Amber found her!

OHMYGOD, there is a Jesus.

When I left the office on assignment earlier, I noticed peculiar, little paw prints all over my windshield. I took that as a clear sign that Harley was in the garage.

And leave it to her to run willy-nilly all over my car.

So I called my sister to tell her to retreat back to the garage, which we had already searched high and low, and not to leave until Harley was found. She had to be there. Had to.

Hi, I'm demanding.

Amber had been searching the fields all morning. Aw. Good Auntie Amber!

Sure enough, after just a few minutes, there was noodle brain Harley, hiding under a wagon. And she was pi-ssed!

I hear there was a lot of hissing and spitting and clawing and screaming going on, but a few (several) scratches and bloody hands later, Harley was safe and sound. Back in the house.

Of course she was looking for her mama. Probably to eat me for locking her in the garage. Whoops.

I just talked to Amber again to get an update, and Harley is already whoring herself out, fiending for attention. That's my girl. So I'm not worried.

And if that little hooker ever thinks of doing that to me again, I'm going to wrap her around my forearm and beat her.

Silly, little baby cat...

(Seriously. I am so relieved I could die. Phew.)