MiMau is fine.

At 7:30 last night I saw MiMau at the bottom edge of the lawn, listening to the tall grass. I could tell she was working into hunting mode. She's never very far from hunting mode anyway. At 8:30 she wasn't home. At 9:00 she wasn't home and Angus was beginning to do his TimeToGoUpstairsToBed dance. I made it to 10:00 and figured if she came to the door and did her speed bag punching routine on the glass door it would probably wake me up. (Husband went to New Jersey yesterday . . . which means that he was not here last night at midnight to let MiMau in from her evening rambles.)  
I woke up this morning: no MiMau.


I took my shower, got dressed, put on makeup, was back downstairs, fingering through the little bin of jewelry that hasn't made it back upstairs where it belongs, looking for something with which to array myself. 
I had made up my mind that MiMau had become part of the great mandala again. This, I thought, is the summer of dwindling pet population.


Meowww?
My head snapped upright. I dropped the ring I'd had in my fingers. I ran to the door yelling Kitty!!!!


And there she was, one side all toasted warm from lying somewhere sunny. She sauntered in, went to her kibble and munched a little bit while I sighed and moaned and petted her and told her how glad I was to have her home.


Now she's walking back and forth across my laptop keyboard.
"See? You didn't like me doing this -- you pushed me away -- but now I can do it all I want, can't I?"