Sunday 22 Nov: 11am
We had just finished a long week of work and were looking forward to having Sunday off. It's not often that we do nothing, but on this particular day, it seemed like we had earned it.
The morning was cold and for a treat, we decided to light the wood burner, put our feet up and get into some TV. So while I prepared the fire, Pen went to the garage to get a few extra logs.
We had no idea that the back door had not been properly shut and since she had also pulled the curtain across the door to keep the draft out, we never actually saw Biscuit as he made his escape.
About two hours later, I opened the curtain and discovered the back door ajar.
"Shit!" I exclaimed and ran round the house like a demented idiot calling out, "Biscuit! Biscuit!" and with no sign of our cat, both of us went straight into panic mode.
We were out for ages, scouring the neighbourhood for our little cat, but with no success and Pen was beside herself. Well, we both were.
I put out posts on several lost pet sites on the internet, with descriptions of Biscuit, while Pen phoned people we knew in the area for them to keep their eyes open in case they spotted him.
Of course, everyone was commiseratory, wishing us "bon courage", "good luck" and other words of hope, but as the days went by, we were beginning to think that whether he had nine lives or not, he wouldn't survive out there in the big, wide world and wasn't coming back.
We were told by a friend that when she had moved house and let her cats out, they would take three or four days to return, so once again, hope was rekindled and we redoubled our efforts to try and find him.
We posted posters of Biscuit in the shops and pharmacy and hoped against hope that someone would spot him and call us. We even left our kitchen window open, so that if he did find his way home, he would have a way into the house, but all it did was make the place bloody freezing for us.
Pen went out at around twilight one evening with a bag of Catisfactions (known as Dreamies in the UK) as just the noise of the bag could bring him from anywhere in the house. Down a little alley in the village, about twenty cats appeared, but by then and with no torch, Pen couldn't see whether Biscuit was among them.
So every evening thereafter, we went out several times in the hopes that we would be able to see him and draw him away from them and get him to come home.
... but we had no luck at all.
Also, our village, like most other rural villages here in Normandy has a 50 kph speed limit. Nevertheless, it appears that speed limits are nothing more than suggestions to the population of rural France. People whip down the main road like their lives depended upon it, with little - if any - regard for the lives of people, let alone little animals like Biscuit. We have lost count of how many cat pancakes we have seen as a result of speeding drivers.
Day six
We had all but lost hope by the end of day five and by then, the idea that Biscuit had fallen foul of a lunatic driver, one of the many birds of prey or even another cat was a very real possibility.
We weren't prepared to give up, but our efforts were beginning to seem more and more futile with each passing day and what was worse, no-one had called to say they'd seen him.
So on the morning of day six, we had virtually accepted the fact that whilst we wanted nothing more than to have Biscuit back in our home, it probably wasn't going to happen. We had resigned ourselves to being Biscuitless to such a degree that we hadn't even left the window open before going off to work.
By eleven, we decided to make coffee for us and the man who was laying the flooring, but we had run out of what we'd taken with us, plus there was no milk either.
I was sent home to get some more as well as a few other bits and pieces and on my return, a little ginger cat crossed my path.
"Biscuit?" I said, not really believing it could possibly be him.
Immediately, the little cat turned and in a loud, clear voice, "Meowed", before he running straight towards me. I bent down and picked him up to head for the house we were working in, all the while, Biscuit sat on my shoulder, meowing louder than ever.
Pen couldn't believe her eyes and after lots of stroking and cuddling of the cat, we brought him home. He got a bowl of food, which he munched his way through without pausing for breath, so I imagine he didn't eat much during his time away.
Pen went back to work, but I stayed to keep Biscuit company. She'll be back shortly and I don't suppose Biscuit will get a quiet moment for some time.
Right now, he's curled up on my lap as I write this, quietly snoozing away after an adventure we'll never get to hear about.
Shame. We'd really like to know what happened.
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