I set his dish on his place mat, his special cat mat that says FOOD PLEASE. Then I called him again.

No Tigger.

"I know you're hiding," I said loudly. "Aren't you hungry?" No Tigger.

"All right. I'll just have to look for you." In our house are a million places where a kitten could hide. There are also several where a kitten could get stuck. Twice, Tigger has been snoozing in the laundry room when the doors somehow swung dosed on him. I marched to the laundry room. The doors were closed! Goody.

"Tigger!" I called.

I opened the door. No Tigger.

Sometimes he climbs onto a high place, such as the mantelpiece over the fireplace, and then can't get down. I checked the mantelpiece. No Tigger.

Okay. It was time for a room-by-room search. In a room-by-room search, I look through each room thoroughly. If I don't find Tigger in one room, I close the door to the room (if it has a door) and go on to the next one.

I began upstairs. I searched the bedrooms and the bathrooms. I didn't see Tigger, so I closed the door at the head of the stairs and ran down to the first floor.

I was on my hands and knees looking under a chair when I heard my father calling me.

"I'm here, Dad!" I replied. "In the living room." I backed away from the chair and stood up.

"What's going on?" asked my father. He crossed the room and gave me a kiss. "There's water on the stove but the burner isn't on, and there are vegetables all over the table. It looks as if you stopped in the middle of making dinner." "Sorry. I guess I did. I can't find Tigger. And I've looked everywhere for him. Well, everywhere inside. He's never missed dinner." "I guess we better search for him outside then," said Dad.