I’m distressed by the disappearance of our cat — it feels like some ghastly premonition

6 February 2010

Toby Young suffers from Status Anxiety

A few weeks ago my friend James and his wife got a cat. They live in a leafy street in Holland Park, yet they’re so overprotective they refuse to allow Louis out of the house. His wife won’t even leave him alone, insisting they get a ‘babysitter’ if they go out. As the owner of a streetwise, shorthaired domestic called Trixie, I have been mercilessly taking the piss out of them. Trixie has been able to come and go as she pleases via a cat door since the day she arrived from the Mayhew Animal Shelter 18 months ago. She’s jet black and quite petite, like a miniature panther, and more than a match for any neighbourhood predators. The only precaution I’ve ever taken is to have her microchipped.

Then, on Saturday 23 January, I came down in the morning to discover Trixie was gone. She has disappeared before, so I waited before sounding the alarm, but when she hadn’t returned on Sunday morning I sprung into action. The trees in Acton are festooned with ‘missing cat’ notices and I spent the morning trudging around the neighbourhood, my four children in tow, adding my own. I have also leafleted every house on my street and the adjoining streets and posted a notice on the local community website. I have even tried to galvanise my followers on Twitter and Facebook to help track her down.

Much of the past week has been spent following up on possible sightings. My mobile number and email address are on all the material so it’s not hard for people to contact me. Last Saturday, for instance, I got a text message at 9.30 p.m. from a man who’d spotted a black cat on the pavement opposite our local church. I shot round on my bike, but there was no sign of her.

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