The telephone rings. I pick up the phone and a woman’s trembling, distraught voice asks, “Have you seen Alex?”

“Who’s calling?” I ask, “And who is Alex?”

“I’m so sorry” she answers, “This is your neighbor, Victoria. I live in the house on the hill just above you and Alex is my precious Siamese cat of nine years. He has disappeared into thin air. I’ve been hunting the neighborhood, calling and calling, ringing doorbells, putting up posters with his picture, name and telephone number. I have one posted on the telephone pole at the bottom of your driveway; I hope you don’t mind. He has a tag and phone number around his neck and has been gone for four days. I’m calling all my neighbors to see if anyone has seen him around.”

“Of course I don’t mind,” I replied. “I’ll keep an eye out for him and let you know the minute I see or hear anything about him.”

“Alex is so friendly,” she continues, “He will come right up to you if you call him. I’m terribly worried because he has cancer and is on medication. Every so often he throws up but his appetite seems good.” Before we hung up I assured her, again, that I would keep a careful watch and if I saw him, would induce him to come to me and call her immediately.

A few days later, I called Victoria to see if she had heard any news of her cat and discovered that she hadn’t.

Three days later, while working at my computer, someone was calling to me from the window: “Mary, Mary, is that you?” I turn to see Victoria standing at the garden gate.

“Hi, Victoria, it’s me; come through the gate and meet me at the kitchen door.”

She brought me the poster of her precious Alex and said that she was at her wits end and hadn’t found him. I suggested that if he was so ill, he might have crawled beneath some bushes and died.

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“Oh, no,” she says, with hope in her voice; “When I didn’t know what else to do, I contacted a psychic. She told me that Alex was still around and nearby – that someone had been feeding and caring for him. The reason that they didn’t call me was that their little girl loved him so much and had begged her parents to let her keep him. They live in a home with a flat gray roof. I haven’t found him yet but I know that if he gets out, he will come running right home to me. As much as I love my husband, if he were missing, I would never spend the time looking for him that I have spent looking for Alex.”

This made me laugh, we both laughed.

I mentioned that if she believed what the psychic said, (and why shouldn’t she – would a psychic have any reason to lie?) this information should relieve her mind a great deal, knowing that the cat was in good hands being fed and loved by a little girl.

“Yes,” she said, “But he’s on medication and they don’t know it.”

Four days later, sitting on my sunny deck having breakfast, words come floating down from the top of the hill: “Here, kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty – Alex, Alex - here, kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty – Alex, Alex.” I know that it’s Victoria out on her morning walk at the top of Mulholland, on her endless search for Alex.

A chill goes through me for the words I hear are like ghostly sounds coming from afar.

Copyright © 2007 Mary L. Ports