Goldie the feral traveled well. He was mostly quiet, but every turn in the car was greeted with eight meows, as if to say, “Is this northwest? What's the GPS location? Don’t go so fast: I need to write this down.”
And then we got home, and everything was fine until I turned my back to open some food, and then when I turned back he was gone. That was at five in the afternoon.
Now, I know cats hide, especially when they're in a new place. So I didn't get upset until ... oh, nine at night. The internet said some cats could hide for a day, and that would not fit in with my schedule. I thought I might have a hole in my house, or accidentally let the cat out, somehow. I alerted the neighbor. She calmed me down and I went to sleep.
... Until two in the morning, when I woke up worried again. I wandered the house, singing the special Goldie song. (Well, not so special, it's the Yale Boola Boola song but, with "Goldie" in the place of "Boola.")
Thankfully after a few verses I heard a tiny meow from the basement, where he was jammed on the shelf behind the router and the drills.
He rubbed his face all over mine and all was well.
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