Leaving for vacation knowing Wilson was roaming the neighborhoods put a damper on my overall excitement. I’d think of him every now and then, and force myself to think about something else.

Thursday we got a call from our friend John who, along with his wife Katie, was checking in on Cleo through the week for us. He asked me if I knew someone named Esther; I said yes, and he said she had left a note on our door saying she found Wilson and was keeping him at her place. Holy shit was I ever so happy.

We got home in the early evening Saturday but Esther wasn’t home yet. When she did get home, we went over to retrieve Wilson. She said he had been pawing at her back door, evidently confused as to which door was his. She scooped him up and took him inside, bought him some food and made a make-shift litter box. When we went in her house Wilson wouldn’t come when called, which wasn’t too surprising as cats usually freak out when in a new environment. Esther said his favorite place was under the sofa, so she moved the couch and pulled him out.

Poor Wilson was so freaked out. I took him from Esther and noticed he must have lost at least a pound or two. He smelled me, smelled my arm, then nestled against me and started purring and licking me. His paws were slightly dirty, but there weren’t any cuts or other noticeable injuries.

We thanked Esther a thousand times, then took Wilson back to our place. We put him down at the base of the stairs so that he could acclimate himself and wonder the house on his own. Cleo came down to see who was home and Wilson freaked the fuck out. He started hissing and growling at Cleo and ran into the kitchen.

For the past couple days he and Cleo have not been getting along. He’s the instigator, immediately growling at her when he sees her. Cleo couldn’t give a shit less, though. I’m not sure if he’s just needing some time to readjust, or if he thinks he’s going to gain a step up in the hierarchy. Unfortunately for Wilson, Cleo is not budging as top cat.

Here are some shots The Partner got of Wilson his first evening back home:

Cleo was so not cool with Wilson’s new attitude:

Poor Wilson. We’ve been joking the whole time that he’s suffering from PTSD. Perhaps we shouldn’t be joking about it.

I’m just so relieved he’s back at home, and in good health.

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