Last night I practiced meditation techniques (Um, meditation?  Who am I turning into?) and visualized what I want:  Sunkist coming home.  I sent him thoughts, encouraged him to get in the trap—that I would rescue him shortly. 
 
Inspired, I ventured outside to do a little more exploration than I was comfortable with.  After I checked the traps for the first time of the night (2:45 AM) and found them to be empty, I decided to explore the other area the animal communicator mentioned.  The Shed.  The Shed is actually a house in a cul-de-sac.  It has a semi-walkout-basement situation.  Underneath the house are two separate sections.  The front is a carport and the back is a shed.  Several days ago the renters left The Shed.  It's empty. 

When I crossed the front of our house my pulse increased tenfold.  There are three houses in the direction I was headed.  One of these neighbors is a Devil Worshiper for sure.  Or an asshole.  Maybe a bit of both.  As I reached the road I was ready to pass out from nerves.  Little did I know, it would get worse.  But, I focused on the task at hand and slowly made my way into the cul-de-sac.  I stopped when I reached the clump of mature sagebrush and I called his name, spoke to him, and in general looked like an escaped mental patient.  I could barely hear above my own breathing so I plodded on as quietly as possible in J's boots.  I finally reached something that looked like the pathway up to the house.  It was hard to tell in the dark so I felt around with my feet, taking each step very carefully.  The last thing I wanted was to fall into a huge hole, start screaming bloody murder, and alert the inhabitants of the one house very close to The Shed, or God forbid The Devil Worshiper.  When I realized the looming shape ahead was indeed The Shed I took several deep breaths and plunged into the garage portion of The Shed.  I turned on the lowest level of the flashlight and slipped into the door of The Shed.  I scanned the area and found plenty of hiding places.  I quietly called his name.  No answer.  After waiting as long as I felt was safe I set a can of wet food in the corner and lunged out the door—leaving it open, down the pathway, and safely onto the road.  I went on my merry way, proud I'd kept calm, and the Imaginary Rapist hadn't made an appearance.  Again I stopped at the sagebrush clump.  Listened intently.  Had no idea what I was listening to so went on, hopeful that if Sunkist was in there he'd follow my path and make his way home tonight.

I was close to our driveway.  Probably about half an acre away.  And then I saw it.  Headlights heading down the road.  Right towards me.  YIKES.  COPS!  I leapt the ditch and tore through the sagebrush.  I ran the way you run when you're in the ocean and you think a shark is right behind you.  I realized that based on the speed of the car I was not going to be able to blindly run through the sagebrush with enough speed to make it to safety, to make it to a hiding place.  Still hopping over the sagebrush at breakneck speed in boots that were threatening to fly off at any moment, I briefly considered hitting the deck and flattening myself on the ground behind some sagebrush.  And as my heart was about to bust through my chest and my body was about to find out how sagebrush feels when you fling yourself upon it, the car turned off into a driveway.  Not cops after all. 

Indeed, this is a strange experience.  And regardless of the hilarity of some moments, it is heartbreaking.

There were no captures last night despite moving one trap to the sagebrush clump.  This is a journey I do not want to repeat.  Each time a trap is checked and found empty, a devastating loss accompanies the discovery.  The process of rebuilding faith and determination is rocky.  Each hour can contain four moments of elated hope and belief and seven moments of rock-bottom despair.  Yesterday I broke down and cried like I did when he first went missing.  Losing hope, even if only momentary, is overwhelming.

Everyday I ask myself if he can possibly be out there when I have no sign that he is.  I must believe.  But at the same time, how can it be true?  Of course I read the stories and marvel at the people who stayed steadfast for so long.  I see the stories of people seeing the cat run by or finding that the cat has been eating food on the front porch.  Why don't I have this?  Why can't that experience be mine?  Wouldn't it be possible for him to just pop his head out of the sagebrush and meow to me?  Just so I can go on.  That's all I ask.  I know it hasn't been that long in comparison to other stories, but how can I believe with all my heart that he's out there if I have no real reason to besides blind faith?  Blind faith isn't comforting.  Seeing him run by is. 

It's been 15 days.