Freya, our beloved feline companion, has always had a curious and adventurous spirit.
With her striking green eyes and soft, fluffy tortoiseshell-coloured coat, she has a way of capturing the hearts of everyone who meets her although she is very shy. However, one morning, our house was thrown into a whirlwind of worry when Freya went missing for eight long hours.
It all began on a typical Tuesday. The sun shone one minute and then it was raining and windy the next. Birds were chirping outside, creating a perfect backdrop for Freya’s explorations. Although she’s not really a bird fancier – they are completely ignored most of the time unless they fly directly into her line of sight and then she runs away. I am pleased she is not.
She loves to lounge in the sun that streams through the windows, but she also has a penchant for venturing outside into the garden and the cold. We have always been cautious, making sure that she was okay during her outdoor escapades, always whistling a sigh of relief on her return. On this particular day, however, the door was opened for her as usual and Freya was out and off before she could say "see you later alligator.”
At first, we didn’t realise she had disappeared. We were busy getting on with the day. It wasn’t until we sat down to eat lunch that we noticed her absence. “Where’s Freya?” I asked, glancing around the room. My partner shrugged, and a sense of unease began to settle in. She hadn’t been in to eat anything yet and calling her name was futile. I was hoping to hear her familiar purring or the soft patter of her paws, but there was only silence.
We looked where her food bowls sat and they were still full of food that hadn’t been touched since the morning. I’m a worrier and Martin is not.
Panic set in as I rushed to the back door, calling out for her. I searched the garden, peering behind bushes and under the deck but there was no sign of our little explorer. The minutes turned into hours, and with each passing moment, my worry deepened. Freya was not just a pet, she was part of our family and the thought of her being lost filled me with dread.
We were going to print flyers if she didn’t turn up soon so I searched on my phone for a photo. I realised out of the hundreds I have, they are mostly of her not looking at the camera.
As the hours dragged on, Martin was confident that she would be okay. Deep down I had a feeling that she would be. The sun was starting to set, and it was getting dark quickly. Just as my panic was reaching fever pitch, I heard a faint meow coming from the front of the house. I knew it was her. I rushed to open the front door, in she walked quite nonchalantly as if she had just been out for five minutes and didn’t know what all the fuss was about.
Relief washed over me that she was back.
We do have a cat flap at the back of the house so she is free to come and go as she pleases but, of course, she insists on me opening the front door.
Freya may have gone missing for eight hours, but she returned home with memories of her own and we were grateful to have her back where she belonged – until next time. (JAY PLATT)
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