Day 11. No George

I went round four or five places calling and checked out a guy who is said to shoot round my nearby woods. It turns out I know him and he wouldn't have shot George. So that was reassuring.
I think George is dead otherwise he would have come home. I am way for three days and will resume this blog on my return with an obituary of his life starting with his arrival at my home.
Cellia, George's human.

Day 10 - still no George

This was George playing in the sink. I wanted a photo to place on www.catsinsinks.com ( I think that\s the website). He was always happy to oblige for the camera. I have scores of pictures of him playing - in sinks, in waste paper baskets, up trees, with dead mice, with cat toys. He was a good player.
The search is on hold for a few days as I am going to look at standing stones this coming weekend. Ronnie will be at home just in case he turns up. I have decided to write George's life story in this blog, starting with the small black kitten with a mind of its own. A sort of extended obituary.
Thank you, Oscar, for the quotation. I knew the first half but not the second bit.

Day 9 - no George

The black cat in Asthall, seen round a skip, is probably a feral. There is one in the village, also a tabby that is perhaps a stray. I owe this information to the farmer's wife, living in a caravan because of the devastating floods. She once lost a dog that simply never was found again so she knows the pain of uncertainity. The farm has a shoot, and she is going to tell the beaters about George. I didn't think he would be that far away but I needed to check. I have left a poster on the village noticeboard - just in case.
I am off to London today, leaving the cat flap open for cats to come in but closed for cats that go out. I wish I could stop hoping.

Day 8. No George

Yesterday I checked the two most likely places, drove on the roads where there is most likely to be corpse and handed out leaflets to dog walkers. I got a new lead. A black cat had been seen near a builders skip in the village of Asthall. This is quite far away - nearer five miles than two - and the lead came in as darkness fell. I am going there this morning.
Tracey, one of Smudge's two owners, is the local RSPCA inspector and she is going to keep an eye out. She also asked the shooters' beaters to look out for him. So that will make it more likely that they hold back, if he is still alive.
For my peace of mind, I am trying to think of him as being dead - after a glorious two year life of hunting and being cuddled. A good combination for a cat. A full life. His loss is the consequence of my decision to let him out in the wide wide world - the English way of keeping cats. I would do it again but now I know the cost of freedom. Freedom isn't a free gift either for humans or cats. It is paid for in lives. George paid for his. I think it is still worth it.
I am still praying for him.

Day 7 Still no George

Yesterday I rushed off to the nearest hamlet where a black cat, looking like George, was sitting on somebody's garden shed. I called. He looked at me, thought about coming and stayed where he was. I called some more and he started to look uneasy, then jumped off the shed and ran off. it turns out he was Smudge. Smudge is owned by two people who live only two doors away and both think he belongs to them. (I haven't enlightened them!!). But he spends most of his time with a third person further down the same road. Cats!
I left food at the nearby farm buildings which was untouched this morning. So if there is a black cat there, he is a visitor not a resident. Resident cats patrol their territory carefully. George would have recognised the bowl. I left the food there as I would like to see the visitor just to rule him out. I think he may be the feral from Buttermilk Farm - a cat with a hunting territory which includes two other lots of farm buildings.
The Astall Leigh bench, where i left some food yesterday morning, still had it during the day but it was eaten during the night. Either another feral in the further reaches of his territory or a fox patrolling his territory. I put down some more. I will check this until I go away on Thursday on a long-booked four day archeaological trip. Ronnie will be there if George comes home.
I now think George is dead, which is some kind of relief really. But I will keep checking until I go away.