Sad news...but hopeful of a happy outcome

I recently posted about my excitement at the imminent arrival of a new puppy. I've now had a cat-shaped curve ball thrown at me which has left me sad, confused and desperate - one of our beloved resident cats, Milky Joe, has gone missing. 

I last saw him on Saturday night, when he was snuggled contentedly in the crook of my knees as I lay on the sofa watching a bad horror film. I could feel his deep, happy purring vibrating against my legs, his reassuring, heavy warmth resting against me. I'd occasionally reach out and squeeze him, his dense fur soft under my fingers, just to make him purr louder. I love the way that cats close their eyes and seem to smile with their whole being when they're well-loved, well-fed, and being adored. And he did, no, does, that a lot.

And now he's gone off somewhere, where I can't reach him, and I am desperate to see him and squeeze him again. He never goes off for more than a day, so something's happened to stop him coming home. I just hope he's hiding, spooked by the windy weather, or stuck somewhere behind a shut door that someone will open any minute now.

My youngest son and Milky have a very special bond. My son was there when our other cat, Violet, Milky's pretty and scatty mum, gave birth to him and four other kittens. Poor Vi was so exhausted with all the pushing and licking of kittens' faces and eating of placentas (sorry) that by the fourth one I had to step in and gently wipe the membrane from the tiny ginger and white kitten's face so that he could take his first breaths. Milky Joe had arrived.

My son, who was four at the time, was right next to me, watching in open-mouthed shock/awe. In that moment, we both fell in love with our ginger boy and knew that he was the one we'd be keeping. Nearly five years later, he and Milky have grown together - he's the only one that Milky will allow to carry him round like a rag doll. Milky's the one that sleeps on my son's bed every day, the one that I know he's with when he goes quiet and retreats to his room. They do a lot of contemplative cuddling.

Both of my sons, and me, are now distraught. For many children, when a pet goes missing or dies, it's their first devastating experience of grief. My youngest is occasionally hit by waves of missing Milky. He'll happily be playing Minecraft, immersed in the moment and forgetting that something is wrong, then I can see his face change and fall as he remembers, and he looks at me, and I know what's coming. The day after the Milk disappeared, he said "I'm worried I'm never going to see Milky again!" So I have to tell him that he is coming back - or should I be preparing him? I can't, because I'm not going to let the thought that he'll come back go. 

I'm amazed at how when I tell people about Milk's disappearance, nearly every one of them has a story of a happy feline reunion to tell - 3 days, a week, 5 weeks - there's more online, of people who've witnessed a long-lost cat sauntering back in through the cat flap after months or even years, a bit thinner (or fatter if they've adopted another smitten owner), but generally acting as if nothing has happened. I'm hoping that's going to be our story to tell.

He's the most gorgeous, loving cat and his absence is like a big fat hole in the middle of our family. I know worse things can happen, of course, and I pray that they don't. But for now we're all focused on getting Milky home - I've called the local vets, animal shelters, council, micro-chipping people; posted leaflets through doors, put up posters, talked to people, meowed at closed garage doors nearby, called out, tweeted, facebooked, registered him on lost animal search websites...

There is hope as long as there's no bad news. I know he's close by. I just have to find him.

How did a puppy appear in our plans?

So further to those puppy pics...whoops here's another one...how did we get here?

I’m not sure how it happened, but we’re getting a dog.

My 14-year-old son has been campaigning for months for a canine familiar. I found it very hard to believe that this boy, his preferred location his bedroom, curtains shut even in summer, attention focused firmly on PC (mainly scanning Reddit for cute pooch pics) or playing Radiohead on bass guitar, would be instantly transformed into a paragon of active and responsible dog ownership if a puppy were to enter the house.

My youngest son isn’t really bothered if we get a dog or a hamster really, it’s just degrees of size to him. As long as it will sit and watch him play Minecraft, he’ll be happy. My partner wasn’t that bothered either, apart from quite liking the idea that having a dog to walk would mean that he could get away from the house when he needed to think about stuff, like why Luis Suarez is such a flawed genius.

The cats were also a major consideration; one is a tightly-wound, emotionally fragile and pretty queen of a female, a bit like Marilyn Monroe, and the other one is a contentedly portly ginger boy with a laid back vibe about him. I don’t think he’d mind that much, as long as the dog didn’t eat his food or lie on his spot on the bed.

As for me, I thought that getting a dog would just mean that I had something else to clean up after and feed that didn’t say thank you or buy me wine.

Then one night, a documentary on how all-round magnificent dogs are appeared on telly. As it wasn’t Game of Thrones or football-based, I didn’t think my partner would be paying much attention. But as I bustled around picking up socks and pants, I realised that all three of the boys were transfixed.  So I sat down and watched too.

Dogs are amazing! Of course there’s those stupid little hairy poos on legs sported in the handbags of birds off TOWIE, but when you get down to the nitty-gritty of it, dogs are pretty awesome. We watched, weeping silently, at the story of a yellow Labrador that had literally brought his owner, a war vet who had withdrawn so far into himself he couldn’t speak or go out, back to life. We gazed open-mouthed at the incredible story of a rescue dog who saved the life of an elderly woman who had got lost one night in a forest after getting off at the wrong bus stop and had fallen and lain tangled in brambles for three days. There’s more to them than doggy smell and slobbery faces, I thought.

Then something deeper stirred, which I haven’t really acknowledged until now. I actually do want something else to look after and love. Despite moaning constantly about being an educated woman, reduced to the status of a household drudge thanks to the acute laziness of my all-male immediate family, I do want something else to nurture, and protect. The fact is that the dog will probably still be lolloping around the house after my boys have left home. Then what will I do? He’ll fill a hole in the empty nest I’m dreading even now.

So we’ve found one, and he’s moving in in June. Our lives will never be the same again. I can’t wait.

(This blog by me originally appeared on Beteenus.com, a fantastic place for parents of teenagers to come together and laugh, cry and support each other through the hormone years.)

Golden nuggets

Nuff said.