I couldn't find Jackie. Anywhere. I beat the weeds around the pool, checked under the sofa and loveseat and futon. I looked behind furniture. I looked up on the bank, I looked in the old dog house on the bank.
I knew he'd been around fairly recently because there was poop by the litterbox in the garage that was definitely Jackie poop.
I looked for forty-five minutes. I asked Katie over and over where was her husband? She just looked at me and meowed.
He's never done this before, but anxiety hadn't kicked in (or maybe that Xanax I mentioned in one of yesterday's entries, had).
I take a deep breath and settle down. He has to be somewhere. This I know.
Well, after I'd calmed down and moved on, I looked outside and who's head pops out of the door of the cathouse under the lime tree?
Jackie. He's found a new spot.
I'm cool with that. As long as I know where it is.
Now, if I only could find Opie's latest spot.