When it rains, it pours...

So in addition to all my cyst-y woes and 'cause I'm not already fragile enough, this morning I get a phone call from Hubs with the following question: "When was the last time you saw Maxx?"

Never a good question to be asked.

Maxx, for those not in the know, is one of my cats. He's the mac daddy cat, really, the coolest cat that ever walked the face of the earth. 11 years ago he picked me while I was looking for a kitten at the Humane Society. I was getting ready to go to grad school and wanted a wee fuzzy companion to come along for the ride.

As it happens, Maxx came home with me three days before I was diagnosed with mono. I spent a lot of time in my room that summer, and Maxx was right there with me, the entire time. We did some serious bonding, that cat and I.

And it's just gotten more involved since then. He's been with me through the vast majority of my adult life. He's more dog than cat - comes when he's called, 'talks' back when you talk to him, loves to be rubbed and spoiled and is just a real character.

And we can't find him.

My cats (we have three) are indoor cats. They've never been outdoor cats, despite what they might want. Maxx is known as a dasher - makes a break for the door every time it opens - but because he's such a chunky kitty he doesn't really get all that far.

We see him, we grab him, we bring him back into the house.

But this time, we didn't see him. Didn't even notice he wasn't here last night when we got home. What a bad cat mom I am - how did I not even realize he didn't come to greet me when we came home? He always does - always! Especially if there's a chance he'll get some food out of the deal.

We're not sure if he got out in the morning when we left or later on that day when Hubs made a quick stop at home to change before his dinner thingie. Either way, he's gone. And we just can't find him.

We've called the Humane Society, Animal Control, and the vet across the street. We've got posters up in the neighbourhood. We've gone to all the subdivisions near our house over and over again, calling his name, looking between houses, and nothing. Not a sign of him.

There's a bowl of food sitting on our front porch - hopefully that will entice him to return.

Everywhere I turn in my house I expect to see him. Lying on the floor by the dining room table, soaking up the morning's rays. Sitting with me here on the couch. Upstairs napping on my bed. But he's nowhere to be found.

One of my other cats seems lost too, like he can't figure it out. He keeps looking up at the door and of course I jump up every time, just in case his kitty senses are that much better than my human ones. And still...no Maxx.

I cried like I haven't cried in a long, long time. I was full on sobbing, just thinking about never seeing him again. Even with all the fertility challenges we've faced, I don't think I've ever cried over that like I'm sobbing over my cat. Messed up or what?

Then again, since we don't have kids my cats are my babies. Not in that creepy dress them up in baby clothes kinda way, but they're members of my family all the same. And Maxx...he's the favourite. And I'm not willing to give him up just yet.

A few years ago he spent a week outside (not on purpose!) and he was fine. I had left to go up north for Christmas and the little bugger must have slipped outside while we were loading up the car. Eight days later I came back and I couldn't find him. I tore the house apart, freaking out that I'd locked him in a closet and he'd shriveled away to nothing (or pissed all over everything) in the time I was away. I went to the front door and called for him - nothing. I went to the back door and called for him - and heard this plaintive cry from the backyard.

Poor bugger had been outside the entire time and was hiding at the basement apartment's entry way. I was very happy to see him. He was very happy to see his food bowl. The other two cats hissed and spit 'cause he didn't smell right anymore. But in no time at all he was back to good and life went on.

So I know he can survive out there and still come home. I know he's outside somewhere 'cause there are paw prints in the front garden. I still expect to open the front door and see him. But I'm terrified that he's lying in a ditch somewhere, run over by a car that just didn't see him in time.

Now I'm crying again.

Hopefully all this stressing will be for nothing and he'll return safe and sound - hungry, dirty, but alive. Because right now, the alternatives are just too sad to contemplate. And I just don't know if I can take any more sad.

And that's your daily dash. How's your diva doin'?