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Missing

15th August 2017 by Helena 3 Comments  

By the time it got to Saturday evening, none of us could remember exactly when we’d last seen him, we only knew he was missing.
We’d rolled in at 2am that morning after an evening of wine and music with an octogenarian friend of ours (these 80 somethings know how to party).
“Did you see him when we got back?” Rupert asked me.
“I’ve no idea,” I replied.
Sunday morning we started to look for him. We walked in all directions from the house whistling and calling his name. Only the cicadas responded. All day Sunday we searched, frantic to find him before his owner, Leo, came home from a camping trip.
“Leo’s not going to be happy,” said Rupert.
“I know,” I replied.
“Where the hell can he have got to?” he asked.
“I have no idea,” I said. “Where has he got to?” I asked his sister Minnie, but she just purred, delighted with all the attention we were lavishing on her.

By Monday morning there was still no sign of him. I had spent most of the night imagining all kinds of dreadful fates that might befall a tabby cat called Tiger in the garrigue; hunter’s traps, kidnapping, mauling by a wild boar, fighting with a fox. Three days on what was he eating, and more importantly drinking? I began to lose hope of ever seeing him again.

Leo came back around midday Monday and spent the afternoon calling him, using the special whistle he has for him. “He’s heard my whistling, I can feel it,” he told me at one point. I nodded and tried to look encouraging. Every ten minutes or so I called Tiger from various vantage points all around the garden. Every sound I reacted to, wondering if it might be him. I longed more than anything to see him padding up the road. The worst thing of all was watching Leo, optimistic at first, slowly getting despondent, shoulders slouching, kicking the gravel on the drive as he returned disconsolate from yet another fruitless search.

It was the uncertainty that was so awful, the not knowing what had happened, not knowing if he was still alive, or suffering. I know he’s just a cat, but it was utterly all-encompassing. I don’t think half an hour passed when we didn’t think about him, and either Rupert or I asked one another: “Where the hell can he have got to?” Although Rupert remained optimistic, confidently declaring “He’ll be back.”
But by 11pm on Monday I had begun to give up hope of ever seeing him again. I was cleansing my face when I heard a strange peep. Then another one. I thought it must be a mouse, or maybe Minnie. Suddenly from under our bed sprang Tiger. He looked dishevelled and slightly freaked out, but he was in one piece. I took him into the kitchen where he ate two pouches of food in very quick succession and drank some water.
“He’s back!” I told Bea who had walked in to make a cup of tea.
“He was just with his girlfriend,” she said. “All’s good in the hood.”


Filed Under: Children, Family, France, Love, Sainte Cecile, blog --> Tagged With: missing

3 thoughts on Missing

  • Jennifer says:
    26th November 2017 at 5:56 am

    What a handsome kitty!

    It’s always sweet to see the love between household pets and one’s children.

  • Helena says:
    30th November 2017 at 3:49 am

    So sweet I agree. I have now had a week here writing my novel alone and actually they’ve been lovely to have around me, if a little distracting!

  • Alexina says:
    31st December 2017 at 9:50 pm

    Gosh; had he been in the house that entire time?
    If not- how did he get back in I wonder.
    Some neighbours may have held him hostage for pats. 😉

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Helena Frith Powell was born in Sweden to a Swedish mother and Italian father, but grew up mainly in England. She is the author of eleven books, translated into several languages including Chinese and Russian. She wrote the French Mistress column The Sunday Times about life in France for several years. She is a regular contributor to the Daily Mail, Mail on Sunday, The Times, Daily Telegraph, Tatler Magazine and Harper’s Bazaar.

Helena has been the editor of four magazines, including M Magazine, a supplement for the Abu Dhabi-based National Newspaper and FIVE, a high-end fashion glossy, also published in Abu Dhabi. Helena was also editor-in-chief of 360 Life, a quarterly glossy magazine published with the Sports 360 Newspaper in Dubai, part of the Chalhoub Group.

Helena contributes regularly to UK-based newspapers and magazines and holds a Masters in Creative Writing from the University of Cambridge. She is working on a thriller set in Sweden as well as a novel about the relationship between Virginia Woolf and Katherine Mansfield called Sense of an Echo.

In 2022 her short story The Japanese Gardener came second in the Fish Publishing Short Story Prize. One of her stories was also shortlisted for the Bridport Short Story Prize. When she’s not writing, she works as a headhunter for the media and entertainment industry for the Sucherman Group. 

Helena, who was educated at Durham University, lives in the Languedoc region of France with her husband Rupert and their three children.

Bibliography

More France Please, we’re British; Gibson Square 2004

Two Lipsticks and a Lover 2005; Gibson Square (hardback)

All You Need to be Impossibly French; (US version of above) Penguin 2006

Two Lipsticks and a Lover; Arrow Books (paperback) 2007

Ciao Bella Gibson Square; (hardback) 2006

Ciao Bella Gibson Square; (paperback) 2007

So Chic! (French version of Two Lipsticks) Leduc Editions 2008 (also translated into Chinese, Russian and Thai)

More, More France; Gibson Square 2009

To Hell in High Heels; Arrow Books 2009 (also translated into Polish)

The Viva Mayr Diet; Harper Collins 2009

Love in a Warm Climate; Gibson Square 2011

The Ex-Factor; Gibson Square 2013

Smart Women Don’t Get Wrinkles; Gibson Square 2016

The Arnolfini Marriage; Amazon Kindle December 2016

Smart Women Don’t Get Wrinkles (paperback); Gibson Square spring 2018

The Longest Night; Gibson Square spring 2019

 

 

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