George is AWOL

When I got home this morning, George didn't come out to greet me. He wasn't in the house, either. I was immediately concerned.

I was sure that I had let him out the night before, but searched all over in the house anyway, then walked around the outside of the house. I was looking for a sick, injured or dead cat by that point.

One clue was a lot of small clumps of gray mammalian undercoat fur with whitish guard hairs. Rocko took a great interest in that and spent a lot of time investigating. I picked up a small bit but it was completely soaked with dew. An hour or so later, once the sun had dried the clumps of hair out, I picked some up and rolled it in my fingers. It reminded me very much of the rabbit fur used in the tying of fishing flies, but it had a strong musky scent. I doubt that it was rabbit fur.

My working theory is that the hair might have come from a predator, torn free by George as he battled for freedom. There are gray fox living on the mountain across the street, and last year I saw one of them pulling a small (dead) whitetail buck up the bank into the woods. Surely that fox would have the strength to carry off a 17-pound cat, once it stopped struggling. Or it could have been a bobcat. The only evidence I have is purely circumstantial: a bunch of musky, soft, gray underfur.

Essentially I am assuming that he's dead. He ain't in the road, I checked that first thing. If he turns up, I'll be overjoyed, but I'm not expecting it. Of course, he could be on a great adventure, but he wouldn't miss breakfast no matter how much fun he was having.