George, the traveller cat...

Yesterday I got the devastating news that George, the pub cat that I love so dearly, has been stolen and taken to Cairns, Australia...

Last year, I lived in Dysart, a small coal mining town in Queensland, Australia. Everyone knew of a local cat who would always come to the pub for a feed, hang out around the hotel rooms with me while I was housekeeping, and come to my house every day to sit with me while I ate breakfast on my veranda. He must've known that I love cats as he spent every minute with me as if he were my own. He soon started sleeping in my bed, was there for me when I was feeling down, and even comforted me after I had minor surgery to get a mole removed (which was actually quite painful).

Last night, when I received news that he had been taken to Cairns, my heart immediately dropped. I can't help but think that he is now in an unknown place, without his brother cat or anyone he knows, probably wondering where he is. But this evening I thought that those things also apply to me, and I love it. So is George's catnapping really an awful thing? Or is this the beginning of his second of nine lives? Does George miss home or is he excitedly exploring tropical Cairns and meeting new people and cats? Maybe he was also fed up with the same routine and is glad of his unexpected departure from Dysart.

Before I heard this crazy news, I planned on moving to Cairns later this year anyway, so maybe I'll find him there. Maybe he'll come back to me again one day while I'm peacefully eating breakfast on the veranda...