In Retrospect, I Should've Named Her Casper

It's too late now, 'cause I'm committed to "Kevin," but in retrospect I think Casper might have been a better name for the cat formerly known as Pumpernickel. 

After three days of leaving her locked in cat jail -- or, as the shelter people called it, a "cat sanctuary," or as normal people call it, the "bathroom" -- today I decided to leave Kevin free to roam the entire condo. 

Actually, that's only partially true. 

The whole truth is that I couldn't extract her from under the bed and so, after a lengthy period of trying and needing to get to work, I left her free to roam. I figured she'd poke around a bit and get more comfortable being out from under the tub. 

Nope. Not quite.

As a friend and Sib4 can tell you, when I got home today I very quickly became convinced that Kevin had forced her way through the mail slot in the door and taken a flyer. She was nowhere to be found. I looked in all the usual places, then all the unusual ones. I lifted up the couch to see if she'd managed to get under there. I dragged everything out from under the bed to make sure she wasn't there. I searched everywhere at least three times. No Kevin.

Then Sib2 came over so we could get dinner, and the two of us searched -- and found Kevin under the bed. All I can figure is that she found her way up into the box springs, which is why I didn't see her the previous three times I'd looked, and only came out when she was good and ready.

The cat's a freakin' ghost.

But at least I have learned to keep my bedroom door shut, and to keep duct tape over the mail slot. Better safe than sorry.