July 1 at 6:30 a.m.

If you’ve been following my story (and if not, why not?!), you read that I spent a couple of really scary days at a shelter. That’s just the days. The nights were longer than then the eyes could see.

So, let me tell you something.

All of my pain, my owner’s worries, my Near Death Experience, could’ve been avoided if I’d been wearing ID tags. That guy who grabbed me, the fat one? The one who looked like he should be sitting on a stool at some club. He would have seen my tag and called my owner right away, instead of taking me to that big, white building, full of barking dogs and crying cats, all of us in cages.

I was one of the lucky ones.

Some of us never went home.

Times being high-tech, they don’t just make regular ID tags, but Smart Tags, too. These have a cat’s important contact info, and even pictures, online. When I’ve been lonely, I’ve tried punching up some of this stuff myself. I keep thinking I’ll find some hot cat and call her up, maybe to purr into the phone. Or, I might just pull a prank call — ask her if she has Prince Albert in a can, or something.

But, seriously: Please get your feline friend a tag and keep it on her always, even if she’s a housecat. Hey, I was a housecat. One little move and I morphed into an outdoor cat. It was awful. Still, somehow I eluded my horrible fate. But not every cat will be so lucky. I escaped, I think, so I could warn everybody. Don’t let my experience be for naught. Whatever that means.

June 24 at 6:30 a.m.

I don’t know how many days I’ve been here.

I might have a while ago, but I’ve eaten so little and drunk even less. And I can barely remember how I got in this cage. I guess I must have done something terribly wrong, or I wouldn’t have been locked up.

There are cats in cages opposite me. But they’re not the same cats as when I arrived. I guess maybe people collected the missing ones and brought them home. I hope so. I hate to think something awful happened to them.

And that could be me, too, one of these days.

Despite the noise, I fall asleep. I dream I’m back home, playing hide-and-seek with Kathy. It’s so nice, but I kind of wish I wasn’t dreaming. Because when I wake up, I know I’ll be sad.

The dream gets weird right about now.

I’m still in my cage. But there’s a big guy opening it. Oh. Is it my turn?? Oh boy. Be brave, Spike.

But no. There’s somebody with this guy. And she’s crying.

It’s Kathy!

Am I dreaming? Still?

No, it’s her! It’s her!

How did she find me? I have no tags on and I’m miles from home. You know something? I don’t care. Sometimes you get lucky. Kathy has me in her arms. I’m just glad she’s not angry.

How can she be? She’s crying too hard.

It’s OK, Kathy. Let’s go home.

June 17 at 6:30 a.m.

It’s so noisy in here.

Even at night, when they put the lights out, the cats and the dogs never stop crying, howling, calling — except the ones who are too quiet — the ones who have given up.

I know this thing I’m in looks like a crate. But if it’s a crate, why don’t they let me out. The trip must be over by now.

And where is Kathy? Is she angry at me or something? Is that why she had them stick me in here and they won’t let me go? I didn’t mean to do anything wrong. Just walked out the front door and got lost.

I finished the water in my bowl and I’m so thirsty. Everyone has gone to bed and no one to provide a refill. And the noise won’t stop .

I’m scared.

One thing I noticed when they were bringing me in? None of the other cats here had their tags on. Just like me. I can’t be sure, but I think that’s why we came in the first place. And why we stayed.

Wherever I am, I hope Kathy knows, somehow. How she will, I can’t be sure. I’m just going to pray and fix my mind on her. Maybe, my prayers will float out of here and reach her.

And maybe. Just maybe. I can go home.

June 10 at 6:30 a.m.

Why is that man chasing me?

I can tell this isn’t a game. He’s wearing a uniform and he’s trying to talk nicely to me, but I’m not fooled. He’s got a treat in one hand, but he’s got some sort of pole in the other. Maybe I can show him my tags and he’ll go away. Oh, man, I don’t have my collar on — which means no tags!

I don’t want to go with this guy, but it’s been a while since I ate anything and I’m starving. Gee, that treat smells good. Maybe I can grab it and run away. Ow! Oh,Jeeze! I guess I can’t.

I’m in the back of a truck. In a crate. There’s a bulldog in a crate back here and a tire and it’s cold and it smells. I don’t usually talk to dogs, but I have no choice.

Bulldog, I’m scared.

After forever, we pull up to a small dark building. The guy in the uniform brings me inside in my little crate. He tells the guy at the desk, “Here’s another stray. Walking around with no tags. Put him with the rest.”

The rest?

We go into a large room with lots of cages with cats. Cats who got lost and couldn’t find their way home.

Life is so random. The day goes along like a thousand other days. Someone opens the front door and you walk out, hang a left and your whole world changes.

They put me into a cage. Now, I’m really worried. If Kathy is looking for me, how will she find me now? I can’t be heard above all this noise — even if she knows the right place to look. I’m Spike. I’ll try to be brave.

It’s not going to be easy.

June 1 at 6:30 a.m.

I don’t recognize this street.

I know there’s supposed to be a white house and yellow shutters at the end of it, but I’ve been walking for a while now. And even though I don’t really know my right from my left, I’m pretty sure after I got out of the house, I did one when I should’ve done the other. This is the suburbs. One place, one street, one sign, looks pretty much the same as the next.

This was just supposed to be a little jaunt. A bit of “Tag, You’re It,” with my owner, Kathy, who would find my antics adorable. Then bring me inside, scold me, break down, hug me and give me a treat. But I don’t see her anywhere. And, as tough as I am, there are some scary-looking creatures out here. Gee, that dog is big. And what is that spooky dude on four legs with a mask like a bandit?

I hope he doesn’t come any closer.

Guess I better keep walking. Maybe it’s just a luck thing — keep walking and you find your home.

But, seriously, has anyone ever seen this happen?

I think that yellow sickle up there is what they call the “moon.”

I used to love to look at it through the window. But all alone, wherever I am? It sure looks different to me tonight.