Perked up somewhat after Artie spotted this morning, by which I mean, I at least stopped physically shaking and feeling queasy.

Dealer has been summoned for an emergency delivery tomorrow. :)

But yeah, Artie was pokin' her head out as we took off for cafe, and her mews were like knives through my heart. I have ZERO resistance to her being sad. ;___;

Puttin' all my faith in Bast, Peg, and all your reassurances that she'll be OK up there. To the best of our knowledge (and contrary to my panicky helicopter-parent imaginings) there's nothing particularly dangerous in that attic, as long as we FEED AND WATER her within a day or so, and she's not *quite* dumb enough to attempt an escape leap she can't handle.

God, this fucking sucks. :O Peg was quite opposed to having Artie as an indoor cat again when/if we rescue her, but has been SUPER SUPER GOOD about accepting I will be A WRECK any day she's stuck up there, and letting me negotiate to just figure out what specifically about an Indoor Artie drives her nuts.

(We might be hitting up Cat Folk for some training advice if all goes well with the rescue. If not... well... you'll always be my hero, Artie, you stupid stupid adventure cat.)