*sigh* I knew there was only a slight chance the cat was actually gone from past experience. However, I get dressed and skip all my morning rituals to head straight over there. I walk in. The two older cats are looking at me as if to say, "It's drama time again, and we just wanted a quiet breakfast." Mom is in tears on the phone with the caregiver telling her about the missing kitten.
So I look on the back porch. Nope. I open the basement door and see some glowing eyes staring back at me from the darkness at the bottom of the stairs. "Get up here!" I say, and the little kitten trots up. Case of the kidnaped cat closed.
Mom then offers to make me breakfast. Since I was there, I figured why not. She's forgotten how I like my egg (singular) cooked. I get a plate of 3 eggs, drowning in butter. It was disgusting, and prob. a good month or better worth of cholesterol that I don't need. However, one of the few Italian traits that remains from my great-grandfather is you never turn down offered food lest the host is offended. So with extra grease and 3 times the amount of eggs I would normally have, I force it down before heading back here.
I would like to catch up on my sleep. With getting up nearly two hours early, and at a running start too, I am tired. However, I have things to do, and miles to go before I sleep.