he was lost and has been found

PJD Press, South Jersey

in an act of sheer courage, prince simon returned home last night to the worried king and queen(but not *dog show*-type parents, just the folks he allows to own him...)

hour by hour for the last three days, said royals simply stood on the back porch, much to their neighbor's chagrin, calling out his name, to no avail.

where could he be? the king asked, worried and wringing his hands together.
he'll be back, no worries, the queen replied, already thinking of the trip she'd be making to the animal shelter to affect her next rescue.
he's been gone a while. three days!
(editor's note: we all know there is hope when someone isn't seen for three days that chances are good there will be a resurrection of sorts...plus the princely cat had done this on one prior occasion and made his way back safely before...)
he'll be back. now go watch some espn and calm your nerves.

so the king would entreat to the house and the comfort of his clicker being in hand, ready to change channels while the queen would sit at the royal computer and check her bloglines.

~*~*~

in one last attempt prior to retiring for the evening, the king called out (at 10:00 p.m., again, and really without knowing, assuming this to be to the neighbor's chagrin). he rushed back into the home, excitedly ranting that he heard a reply coming from the dark; a meow, as it were.

he's out there! i heard him!!
cats don't reply. it's not in their bloodline to show interest...
come with me, my queen, our prince has returned! the electricity in the air was palpable.

as an aside, the royals' other cat, princess rosie (aka boo boo kitty), sat on the sidelines, silently hoping the prince was not out there, that this was all a big mistake...

the queen called out, "simon! where are you kit-ty?"
**meow**
her ears perked up; she adjusted her eyes to the dark of night and there he was: in the neighbor's yard, looking all sorts of noble and unaffected by the stir he had created.
"simon! come home, buddy - it's okay, you won't be punished! in fact, i believe father will kill the fatted calf for you, m'kay?"

he wasn't budging.

at that the king ran out to meet the prodigal cat, who showed his appreciation for the transport from yard to yard by rolling around in the wet grass prior to the king lifting him in the air to bring him in through the back door, which unexplainedly closed and locked the royals outside, in the dark, in the rain, in their socks, holding a squriming wet cat. (rosie??)

the king and queen hobbled around to the front of their castle, the queen still in her now-soaking wet spongey sports-socked feet and rang the doorbell. the middle lord child of the home, hobbling to the front door with his crutches, answered and greeted the aristocratic cat with glee, who jumped out of the king's arms and ran upstairs to see if his litterpan was where he left it...

after finding all things were just as he liked them, and not being one for much show of affection, the noble sire did allow the queen mum to towel dry him off, which pleased the queen since the cat, heretofore silent save for his meowing in reply, answered back with a purr.

the now embittered princess rosie, however, replied with a hiss. peace had thus been restored in the kingdom.