It warmed up a bit yesterday—this means wearing two pairs of pants and three shirts that flattened my boobs like a sports bra.  I was looking quite attractive. 

Fortunately the wind didn't threaten to blow my private regions off into the sunset.  I could actually hear last night when I was out looking for him.  Of course, that didn't help much because every noise was him.  My breathing was so erratic that I was actually hearing myself.  And my eyes kept seeing flashes of light.  Surely aliens didn't pack up their things, follow Jenne home from seeing the Marfa lights, and travel through the phone lines to Wyoming.  Or maybe they did.  It would likely be a familiar place for them to immigrate—bizarre, barren, unfriendly, uninhabitable.  I'm pretty sure that's what happened.

I had another (well, two) encounter with the imaginary cops last night.  While standing near the shed, debating whether to risk going in and getting blown away by the deranged neighbors, a car came into view and I immediately and psychicly (yes that's a word) determined it was a cop.  So I ran through the sagebrush yet again.  I must be getting quite good at running through knee-high bushes and uneven terrain in the dark because I actually made it back to the house without breaking off my fibula.

I also had a run-in with an annoyed antelope while I was trying to flatten myself against the shack behind our house—the second cop sighting.  The antelope was making all sorts of grunting noises and I couldn't turn on the flashlight to scare him away, or see if he was sitting right beside me, because, obviously, I was hiding.  He didn't mow me down but I had thoughts of being trampled by an antelope and how that would work out for me.

Last night was not a good night in terms of being hopeful.  I didn't find Sunkist—apparently he wasn't interested in using the loo.  We didn't trap.  But there was some sign of a tasting at the Kitty Buffet.  It's most likely just those pesky neighborhood cats mooching.  They probably all sit around, napkins in their laps, and discuss politics in British accents while they dine on the select morsels.

I did look at some pictures of Sunkist and attempted to speak to him telepathically.  Unfortunately when I try to clear my mind I start chanting "nothing, nothing, nothing" to myself and then I realize I have an itch that I should scratch and then I start wondering how I'll ever get the laundry finished.  Apparently I'm just not cut out to have a clear and calm mind.  I'll keep trying to do the telepathic thing though because I'm just cool like that. 

I'm now considering buying a cartload of whole fish at the lame grocery store, if they even carry fish, to hang from every surface around our house.  The soon-to-be warm weather will make it stink to high heaven and maybe that'll make him come running home.  I know it's a rather disturbing idea, but I have a lot of those lately.  This ordeal makes people, or maybe just me, do very bizarre things.

God.  I hope he is recovered soon.  I may start sitting on the floor all day drooling, making up songs, and picking my toes before too long.

It's been 24 days.