Still no sign of the little bugger, after five search expeditions. Their ostensible owners know, and haven't really done much.

I've at least stopped guilting myself out over the fact they were following us when they got lost. They're an outdoor cat, left unsupervised night after night, and if it hadn't been us, it would've been something else. Evidently, three of their sisters "wandered off" like this, too.

Peg and I have been consoling ourselves with tales of kitten heroism, e.g., "We're gonna get up one of these days and he'll be testifying before the Senate."

I've also consoled myself with the fact he was five months old, a virtual teen in cat time, and was the fastest, cutest, and smartest of his litter. And New Orleans admittedly is a fairly cushy place to be a stray—warm, full of prey and handouts, full of good hiding places and soft-hearted old ladies.

But I could still just about strangle our neighbors for treating them like this. Been bracing myself since day one for something like this to happen—I just didn't think it would happen so damn soon after we let Umbra in for the night and I started developing Parental Feels for the little bastard.

Peg has cast spells for his return. I have promised him the noblest of titles should he return, perhaps "Umbra the Wanderer" or "Umbra the Bold."

I would just love to see him again.