"PANIC SYNDROME"



by Bev Conover

At 4 a.m. this morning I had the good fortune of going from the depths 

of utter despair to complete exhilaration, all because of a 10 year 

old cat named Katie.  


Two days ago Katie did not show up for breakfast, which was very unlike 

this cat.  She did not get her nickname of The Incredible Bulk for nothing.  

Still, there are other things more important to her than food.  Not many, 

but there are some.  


That evening upon returning home, I noticed her face was missing from 

among the other three in the front window.  I started becoming a little 

concerned and hurriedly opened the door.  No Katie.  I called out and 

still no Katie.  I surmised this was some kind of a new game we were 

playing and she forgot to leave me the rule book.  I casually changed my 

clothes, only occasionally calling out to her.  Nothing.  Food - that 

would do it.  She never has been able to resist the sound of a can opener.  

Six opened cans later there was still no sign of her.  It was then I knew 

this was serious.  


I searched high, I searched low.  I searched in, I searched out.  I did not 

like this new game.  


Several hours later, after calling on all the neighbors and circling the 

block many times, I was exhausted and becoming depressed.  To say nothing 

of my newly tarnished image in the neighborhood.  


When one of the neighbors heard me calling out, she offered to join in the 

search for Katie.  She wanted to know what she looked like, so I told her 

Katie was black and white with a little black moustache.  She looked quite 

puzzled and I realized she had thought Katie to be a child.  Her help only 

lasted two houses. 


I finally gave up the search and went back home.  Weary and frazzled, I 

dropped into bed and tried not to think about it.  I knew she would come 

home.  


I awakened before the alarm and rushed out to the kitchen.  I just knew she 

would be waiting.  She wasn't.  My heart sank.  The other kitties looked at 

me as if sharing in my disappointment, their spirits dimmed but not their 

appetites.  


I combed the neighborhood once more before leaving for work.  I queried 

everyone I saw and left my work number with a neighbor to give to the mail 

carrier, so he could be on the look out.  The search was intensifying. From 

work I called Animal Control and every pet hospital I knew of.  At least she 

was wearing her collar and tags.  Between making "Lost Cat" posters and phone 

calls I did not manage to get much work done.  It occurred to me I was taking 

this rather badly.  I couldn't help it. 


I left work early.  As I drove home stories I had heard of cats missing for 

days then suddenly turning up raced through my mind.  Katie had never left 

home before.  How could she do this to me?


Once home I gathered together a group of friends and we covered Redondo 

Beach with "Lost Cat" posters.  I offered rewards.  I begged, I pleaded.  I 

put individual notices on doors for blocks around - in case the occupants had 

somehow missed seeing the signs on every phone pole. 


Upon returning home I stared at the flashing red light on my answering machine.  

Could this be it?  Did someone see the signs and find her raiding their 

refrigerator?  No it was my dentist's office calling to remind me it was time 

for a check up.  Now I'm not too fond of dentists in the first place, but this 

clinched it.  


Eventually my friends went home and I was left with a silent phone. I tried to 

sleep - no luck.  So I planned my attack for the next day.  I would borrow a 

doctor friend's stethoscope and listen at every garage door.  I would crawl 

under every house.  I would rent a plane to carry a banner - hoping she hadn't 

left town.  


Just as I was deciding which news media to call - it happened.  At 4 a.m. I 

heard a "meep".  It didn't sound like Katie, but it didn't sound like anyone 

else either.  I meeped back.  She meeped.  I meeped.  I was getting closer.  

It was the drawer.  The drawer was meeping.  I opened it and looking back at 

me was my child with the black moustache.  I hugged her.  I kissed her.  I 

cried.  After a whole can of food and a trip to the sand box, I was starting 

to realize the nightmare was over, for both of us.  Not that I had overreacted, 

of course. 


Katie did not look too much the worse for wear after her two days in solitary 

confinement.  I looked a wreck. 


After the "good news" phone calls were made and the posters were down, Katie and 

I had a long talk.  We both decided not to play this game anymore.  


The good people of Redondo Beach are still calling with reports of sighting her.  

I happily report to them she was found.  One woman called to say not to give up 

hope.  Another woman did try to convince me I had the wrong cat and she had 

actually found the Real Katie.  


No, there she had been the whole time, right under my nose.  Just like many of 

the solutions to our problems, if we only knew where to look.