After nearly a four-day absence Zak returned this morning. Out of the effing blue. “Oh, hi…you losers didn’t miss me, did you? I was catting around, adventuring, living the life of Ernest fucking Hemingway. What’s doing on the boring-ass home front?” I was half overjoyed, half pissed. Part of me wanted to say “you fucking asshole, where were you?” but I suppressed that. We made out for a half-hour straight. My guess is that the local kidnapper saw one of my “lost cat” signs and felt guilty and let him go. That or Zak escaped. Food, whipped cream, grooming, more backrubs, neck massages, ear kisses. He’s sleeping now. All is well.