Ninja

When my hubby and I moved from a condo by the beach to a retreat in the mountains, we obviously took our critters with us. Roxy (the dog) and Ninja (the cat) immediately took to their new life--Roxy spending hours digging for gophers and pooping where no dog has pooped before, and Ninja honing the skills that earned him his name: hunting, climbing trees, and (of course) chasing Roxy.

Until now.

Ninja went out on Sunday night, like he's done countless times in the six months since we've been here. Except that he hasn't come home. My hubby, Roxy, and I have all gone out searching for him, but so far without success.

I've been to two animal shelters, but no one has delivered him into their care. Today, as Roxy and I were putting up flyers in the hope that one of our neighbors may have either seen or abducted him, we came across one of the neighbors going for an afternoon stroll. I explained to him what we were doing, and he candidly replied that "your cat's probably been eaten. We have about 200 cats, and they get eaten all the time." Exactly what I wanted to hear--not. Then came his insight: "Is your cat a mouser or a pet?" 

Aha! 

I have been worried sick about Ninja since Tuesday. He is a member of our family, but has also worked diligently to ensure that the mouse population doesn't get out of control. While it is too late for my feelings about Ninja, perhaps this will change my perspective on our feline companions in the future: perhaps there should be a difference between a mouser and a pet, at least on the mountain, where much bigger kitties roam the night.

I haven't given up on Ninja. My dreams have been filled with him coming home nonchalantly, wearing his signature "oh, hi" expression. I'm still hoping these dreams become a reality, and that he's out having the biggest adventure of his furry little life. Until then, we still have Roxy and our two little mousers-in-training for company.