This is getting odder, yesterday it was my keys today it is the cat. I saw him this morning and let him out, Big Momma let him in and fed him. He has not been seen since. Momma thinks he has somehow got himself in the walls. Which although very unlikely is possible as they are cavity walls. But I don't think so. I'll refrain from putting up wanted posters at the moment. I've opened the back door and looked into the dark wind swept rain, I've even called out, "come on puss, where are you Stinky, come on in!" alas to no avail. He is not listening or has got a better offer somewhere else. Well he wasn't our cat to start of with, he adopted us and stayed in this house because we fed, watered and tickled him. There wasn't much choice about it. So Big Momma has been saying "oh the poor thing, he's stuck in the wall." Of course the horror of him being stuck in the cavity wall and not being able to get out is terrifying. I could see him now, clawing his way to some point between the walls and he is frozen in position, unable to move any part of his body because he is tired out. Not a nice thought. One of those little terrors you hope is not true because there is no way the wall is going to be knocked down or smashed open to try and find him. The house would fall down. In addition there's the notion of trying to sleep the next few nights. Well I just don't want to think about it any further. I'd rather go along the lines of him being abducted, by aliens. Of him going back to the home he used to live in, of being lost in the wilderness, or plainly just hiding under some kind of shelter outside which is out of the rain and keeping him dry.
Big Momma insisted she had heard the cat meow. We got into an argument.
"It's the wind and rain outside what you can hear. Or it's the neighbour's kids screaming, or even a fox outside. It's not the cat."
"No it's not outside. He's in the wall, I can hear him. I heard him earlier, loud and clear. The poor thing, he's stuck, he's in the wall. I'm not mad I don't hear things. You're the mad one. It takes one to judge one."
"Yes you are mad. He's not in the wall. He can't be. If he is there's no way he is going to get out. I'm not going to have the house knocked down to find him. I can't hear him. You're hearing things."
"I'm not. He's in the walls, he's not outside either I've looked"
"OK, I'll have a look outside myself."
"Go on then, I've already looked, he's not there."
I went outside, checked under the little old table in the garden, round the side of the house and then by the rubbish bins. He wasn't there. Not even a poor injured Stinky. Where the hell was he?
Back inddors, the telly was on. I listened and could not hear a thing. If the cat was meowing then it was infrequently. Big Momma must be hearing it, she's got to be going crazy. Unless he was tiredly meowing, and as she predicted stuck in the walls. About twenty minutes passed and I was wondering whether Big Momma had psychologically screwed up my head. A bit like Sparkling can when she wants to play about with my mind, telling me things are there when they are not. She has done this too a whole band of youngsters before with her ghost stories. Then I'd hear the cat and would be going bonkers. When he clearly wasn't there. Or of course the worse scenario was Big Momma was right. Then it came, and if I hadn't of actually been trying to listen for it I would of thought I was going completely loopy. It was a small "meow," I had to really think and question myself whether I had actually heard it. Was I mad? Was there some contagious mental illness which had just been zapped into my head. Next week I'll be out in the garden playing with the fairies. The faintness of the meow was disturbing thoughts of being mad or the cat was in the walls. Bloody great news on two counts.
I turned the telly off, took a torch and began looking in the most unlikely nooks and crannies I could think of. Behind the immersion heater, opening cupboard doors completely, checking every shelf in the cupboards. In closed boxes which he could fit only to find the boxes were full of stuff and there was no way he would get in them unless they had been opened and he was doing a sardine impression. I heard a "meow" again. It was louder tis time, definitely coming from upstairs. Big Momma commented.
"Yes, he's climbed up inside the walls, he's in the wall at the up stairs level, we have to keep calling downstairs so he can make his way out. He has to come out by himself."
"Look.. Just shut up and listen! Be quite!"
There was indeed a slim possibility Stinky had climbed up into the cavity walls somehow from behind the kitchen fittings. This was not something I wanted to contemplate. Or I could expect men in white coats to come knocking on the door shortly.
The only way to get a bearing on the "meows" was to lay on my bed. Be still. Listen. I calmed myself after arguing with Big Momma relaxed and tried to heighten my sense of hearing. If Stinky was stuck in the walls then I had to know. If his meow was muffled or loud, whether I could sleep through it or not. Would it play on my conscience? I'm not going to get a builder in or have the house revamped. I lay there and there was no sound. Ten minutes passed. Then I heard it again. This time Stinky's meow was louder. There was no way that meow was coming from behind a cavity wall. It would of been a lot more dull. Like meowing through a sock. I took the torch and now moved in the direction of where I thought the sound was coming from. Even with the lights on they are not bright enough to see in those dark places a cat would seek comfort, solace, non disturbance from human beings. I heard it again, even louder this time. He moved as well. It was coming from the bed. Big Momma's bed. How on earth I wondered could he have gotten under it. The bed has a skirting down to the floor. I then noticed there were some large draws on the side of the bed. They looked like decoration and not real draws. So I pulled one open. There sitting amongst chrimbo decorations was one, content cat who really didn't mind at all whether he was found or not. He had been quite happy, and I'm sure wouldn't of really bothered meowing unless he was desperate for food. Knowing Big Momma's luck he'd of made up his mind at two a.m. in the morning.
Big Momma wasn't crazy and neither was I, thank my lucky stars. I took of my deerstalker hat, put my magnifying glass, torch and notepad away.
So it was another mystery solved in the life of Sherlock Holmes had passed. Are these walls really padded?
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