I, The Dog, have been asked to post this; Rachel is too tired and puffy-eyed to do it all herself. She says to thank you for your good wishes, and hopes that you all have your paws crossed for better news to come.
We have been out for ages in the rain, searching, calling, hoping, and getting so wet that I had to have a bath when I got home. Something about smells, I don't know. Humans do fuss about smells.
Anyway, I'm clean enough now to go on the sofa.
We have a notice in the window, with a photo of Scooter, and all the neighbours are looking out for him. Roger and Dave have been on ladders, looking over walls, and Sandra has been out to get very wet with us. We've looked everywhere.
Millie has been asked to go and find him - she's very good at this - and has started by looking out of the window to see if she can spot a very wet lost cat in the distance. She'll go out searching later; she says she's preparing mentally just now. Mental work is best done out of the rain.
Rachel wonders if she is catastrophising - her old tendency - and that perhaps Scooter has just learned from Millie about mice and birds, and isn't a scaredy-cat at all, but a noble hunter. I hope we get to ask him ourselves.