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“My cat is missing. Yes, I’m being serious – my cat is missing. I usually call her Miss Miffy, and she was one of the gifts I received for my seventeenth birthday when she was just a kitten. My mom brought her home from the pet shop, saying, ‘Daisy, come and meet your new companion.’ This marked my first encounter with Miss Miffy. I dare say she was the prettiest cat I’d ever seen since my childhood, with her pristine white fur, classic glass-like blue eyes, and a big, fluffy tail. That summer, Tiffany used to visit my house frequently. She was my best friend from high school and adored the cat just as much as I did. I still remember her astonishment when she first laid eyes on my cat and the pity that lingered in her gaze.
However, a disagreement over some differences of opinion eventually led to our falling out, but that’s beside the point. Now, I’m twenty years old and studying economics at university. My school is renowned for its economics program, and I chose it primarily because of its proximity to my home, allowing me to return early after classes and spend time with Miffy. But now, that time may never come again, as he has disappeared, and I have absolutely no idea where he is or where he may have run off to. Miffy has always been an obedient and docile cat, very attached to his humans, never shying away from human touch. He loved to nestle in my arms and be pampered, and I relished playing with him using a cat-tease stick. Those were some of the happiest moments of my slightly mundane high school years, all before he vanished. When I returned home that day, I didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. Everything appeared just as it always did – a clean sink, pristine floors, an immaculate coffee table, and a spotless couch. I credit this cleanliness to my nanny, Nancy… Oh, it just dawned on me that I forgot to mention I have a nanny.
Nancy is a nanny I hired after starting college, responsible for cleaning and looking after my cat when I’m not home. She doesn’t cook for me since I enjoy cooking after class. She’s a wonderful person, and Miffy adores her because of her gentle care. The night my cat disappeared, I messaged Nancy to inquire if she had taken my cat out to play or if he had vanished while she was at home. Nancy was evidently distressed, even calling me, and I could hear her sobbing on the other end of the line. ‘The last time I saw Miffy was on the couch at your house,’ she said. ‘He was lying there, stretching himself out, and he barked at me when I left your house. Then I closed the door, and I’m certain it was securely shut.’ On the other end of the phone, I let out a long sigh. ‘I’m truly sorry about Miffy’s disappearance,’ she repeated. I consoled her emotions for a few moments, then began to contemplate seriously how to handle the situation. I had to find Miffy, that was for certain. I dedicated two days to creating missing cat notices and posting them on the neighborhood streets. I described Miffy’s appearance and his favorite activities – chasing after sunbeams and relishing head rubs from humans. I wagered that if Miffy had run away, he wouldn’t have gone far, knowing I’d return home to keep him company. I must say, putting up posters around the neighborhood all by myself was exhausting.