This is kinda long (TWSS) so read it if you want:

So I got home from work last night at around 4:45 like I usually do. Martin (my cat) usually greets me by the door when I come home, but he didn’t yesterday. This, in itself, isn’t too odd. There have been times when he’s been sleeping when I get home and it takes him a little while to come out and find me and say ‘hi’. So I go back to the bedroom to see if he’s sleeping on the bed, and to change my clothes. I figure I’d play some Rock Band before Katie gets home. Back in the bedroom, Martin is not on the bed. Again, this isn’t so strange. He has several “sleepy” spots where he could be. I change my clothes and start looking for him. I look in the window sill of the third bedroom. No Martin. I look on the futon in the den. No Martin. I look on the couch, and on his kitty condo in the family room. No Martin. Now I’m really getting concerned. I’m thinking that maybe he’s sick and has crawled under one of the beds. So I begin a systematic search of the house. He’s not in any of the closets, under the beds, or anywhere. That’s when I notice that one of the family room windows is open. My heart sinks.

I throw on a jacket and put my shoes back on, grab a flashlight (as it’s almost dark now) and head out to search the back yard. It’s absolutely DUMPING rain. All I could think of is my poor little kitty, who has never really been outside, being drenched by this stormy night. I check under all the trees, in the evergreen bushes that flank the property, in the wood pile. No Martin. I move around to the front of the house, and check under all the bushes. No Martin. I look on the side of the house. No Martin. Now I head down the street to start talking to neighbors, asking them if they’ve seen a black-and-white tuxedo cat. None of them have. Just about then, Katie (Mrs. Phildopip) comes home and I break the news to her. She goes inside to grab a heavier-duty coat, and we start canvasing the neighborhood. We go to the next street over to talk to the people who live directly behind us. The whole way there we’re calling his name, and making kissing sounds (our usual “come here” signal). No Martin. We talk to the neighbors who live behind us. No Martin.

By now we’re both soaked to the bone, it’s really dark now, and my glasses are so covered in rain and fog that I can’t see a damn thing. We decide that it’s best to head home and wait for Martin to come back. I didn’t have much hope that he’d be back any time soon because it was raining so hard. I liked to imagine that he’d found a nice, dry place under a tree somewhere and was somewhat comfortable. When we got home I jumped online to look up lost pet sites to see if I could get any pointers. A couple of them suggested that I put clothes that smelled like us into a box, and leave it outside. That way there’s a familiar smell out there, plus a place to wait and be comfortable. So I grabbed an old laundry basket, loaded it up with some of my clothes, and some of Katie’s as well. I even tossed in Martin’s favorite blanket. I put it on the front porch, and opened the living room window that looks out onto that porch. I also reopened the window through which Martin had escaped, in case he found his way home. Katie and I decided to watch some TV to try to distract us from the unpleasant thoughts. Of course the bad thoughts persisted. And other thoughts started to arise: How could I possibly go on my vacation on Saturday knowing that Martin was still out there on his own? The answer was I couldn’t. I told Katie that I couldn’t go if Martin hadn’t come back yet.

Every thirty minutes or so, I’d get up and check the front porch, and the back yard to see if he had found his way home. Soon it was bed time and there was still no sign of Martin. Lately, he had taken to sleeping with us at night (always RIGHT between my legs, so I couldn’t move them during the night as kitties do, of course). I had the thought as I was going to bed that maybe he’d find his way home, then come and join us in bed. He didn’t. I slept like shit. I dreamed about him all night long, and in every single dream he came home safe and sound. They were pleasant dreams, but when I woke from them I realized that they were fantasy and that Martin still wasn’t home. Katie dreamed about him all night too. I felt her get up at about 4:30 this morning. She checked the front porch for any sign, called his name, but there was still no Martin.

My alarm went off at 6:30, and before hopping in the shower, I decided to have one more look at the front porch. As I pulled aside the curtain, I saw a black shape lying curled in the basket. I almost couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I called his name, and he looked at me and meowed desperately. He came over to the window that I had left open, but couldn’t jump through it. He put his paws up on the sill, and he was still meowing, but wouldn’t jump up. I went to the front door, opened it, and Martin came inside. Safe and sound.

So, yeah, last night and this morning was an emotional roller coaster. I’m just so glad to have my kitty home. I still don’t know how that stupid window got open, but I made sure and shut it tight.

Nostalgic video of the day

60 minutes segment so he can use it in a board meeting next week.

Is this the general perception about people my age? Am I really as bad as this segment makes me out to be?

Did we finally run out of things to talk about?

1) I would steal/copy the talent of an insane drummer – pick your favorite here… Brian Chippendale, Chris Weingarten, young, non-drugged Keith Moon, etc.

2) Doing work that will never go anywhere; knowing some project is dooooomed but cranking through it anyway. Some people really hate this, and I think I used to. It’s familiar now, but can still be rather annoying.

3) The sharif really, really doesn’t like it; this particular sharif was allied with the theocratic Salafist Group for Call and Combat, having came of age in the Armed Islamic Group. He’d fallen in with Ali Belhadj before becoming sharif of a small tribe in Tamanrasset province (city of Tazrouk). Fitting with his ideology (which he has formally repudiated as part of the cease-fire agreement), he is against public dancing, and especially against jet-pilots.

4) It kind of has to be “Take On Me” by the Norwegian sensations A-ha. The Family Guy parody of this video is a classic moment.

5) I shoot Mussolini and Hitler. I sit Mr. Gorelick down and threaten him with violence if he doesn’t move away from the insipid balladry and back to his roots in the band Cold, Bold and Together (which you can hear on the ’Wheedle’s Groove’ compilation from Light in the Attic Records). I’m not terribly tempted to shoot musicians who use their talent in completely bizarre, incomprehensibly dumb ways. I used to be, but that would seriously have to become my life’s work, and I think I’d tire of it.

She was quite attractive in Cloverfield, but AMAZINGLY hot in True Blood.