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.
On a couple of occasions I’ve been sent on a wild goose chase. A man saw a black cat running across the road near Acton Police Station and offered to drive me there so he could show me the exact spot. Disappointingly, the cat in question turned out to belong to a local publican.
Several people have reported seeing a black cat in the ‘Poets Corner’ area of Acton and I’ve been going on nightly patrols, often accompanied by my one-year-old, Charlie, who seems to miss her more than the others. We did encounter one cat sitting on a fence who looked remarkably like Trixie — Charlie was convinced. But after scrutinising her for a good ten minutes, I concluded it wasn’t her. It was difficult to tell. I wonder how many distraught owners of lost cats have plucked other people’s cats off the street, mistaking them for their own? Come to think of it, perhaps that’s what happened to Trixie.
I’ve always prided myself on not being over-sentimental, particularly about animals, but losing Trixie has proved distressing. Has she been savaged by a fox? Wandered too far and lost her bearings? Or is she curled up in the lap of some kindly neighbour? It’s the not knowing that makes it so hard. When the temperature falls below freezing I worry that she may be out there somewhere, alone and disorientated, with no way of keeping warm.
Perhaps the reason it has affected me so deeply is because it’s a ghastly premonition of what it would be like to lose a child. That actually happened once — in Gap, of all places. I was with Freddie, my two-year-old, and I spent a little too long on my haunches, looking for a three-pack of boxer briefs in my size. When I stood up he had vanished. The surge of anxiety was so overwhelming I almost fainted. Thankfully, we were re-united a couple of minutes later by an assistant manager.
Trixie has been gone for ten days now and I’m beginning to lose heart. I’m fairly sure that all the ‘sightings’ have been of other black cats, not her, and she could be anywhere within a mile radius of my house. That’s assuming nothing has happened to her, which may be wishful thinking. Is there any point in continuing to comb the streets? Every morning I come downstairs, hoping against hope that she’s returned in the night, but her basket sits there empty and I feel a pang of guilt about not doing more. I daresay Charlie and I will be out there again this evening, calling out her name.
Toby Young is associate editor of The Spectator.
Comments