Boris would often wait for me as I returned from my occasional visits to the local pub. He would see me turning the corner then run in front before lying supine on the pavement to have his belly rubbed. And if I was working on this computer, he would often enter the room, miaow, prick his ears back and command that I followed him. If he went to the kitchen cupboard it meant he wanted feeding and if he went to the front door it meant he wanted out.
He spent a lot of time out and about - patrolling his territory. Once Shirley blinked googgle-eyed when she saw him on a work colleague's street about a mile from our house. She called him over and stroked him. I envied his feline life - free to come and go - free food supplies - no work and no clock to watch - no fashion concerns and as much impregnation of the local tabbies as he could handle!
I would sometimes see him waiting intelligently to cross roads but of course he was only a cat and in my heart I feel sure that he has met his end on a nearby road. I have looked for him and we have called constantly for him but I believe that Boris has well and truly gone. Just one little bit of hope resides in memories of our last cat - Blizzard - who died at the age of sixteen. Twice, he also disappeared and twice he returned several days after leaving. Where had he been? Of course he never told us. So please Boris! Come home! Daddy is waiting! We miss you!