If only he could talk...

Harley escaped today.  It was the worst feeling in the world!  I went to get something out of the laundry room and noticed that the corner of the screen in the window was sticking out more than it usually does (I've tried to fix it, but haven't been able to).  I looked outside - didn't see him.  Looked in the kitchen - not there.  Ran upstairs and looked in the bathtub - nadda.  Looked all over my room and the spare bedroom - zilch.  I started FLIPPING OUT.  I called Lauren, thinking she was down at her house, to come help calm me down and help me find him, but she had gone home.  So then I call the next logical person.  My mom.  In Alaska.  When she got on the phone, I completely burst into tears, "Harley is gone! He got away! He pushed the screen out in the laundry room and he's gonnnnnnnnnne!"  She calmed me down and told me to leave the door open for a while, and while I'm doing my thing, he'll get hungry and find his way back.  Now, I'm the kind of person who, as much as I hate it, is run by my emotions and my thoughts.  The fact that he was out there all alone, for the first time ever, scared me to death.  I could hear dogs barking and trains going by and cars whizzing down the road... What if he got attacked?  What if he got hit?  What if some kind person found him and picked him up?  He doesn't wear a collar because of his allergies, so had he been picked up, this person wouldn't have known who to call.  And what if someone picked him up and decided to keep him since he didn't have a collar on?  But then, when they took him to the vet and figured out all his issues, they just decided to have him put down?  I couldn't bear the thought of all those possibilities, but at the same time, I couldn't keep them away.  And I couldn't just leave the door open and "do my thing."  No no... I sat in the door way, crying and calling his name.  Pathetic.  But it was all I could do.  I was so scared.  Eventually it got dark and it got cold, so I had to close the doors.  My sitting in the doorway became laying on the couch.  I made myself cook/eat dinner and while my potatoes were boiling, I sat on the floor in the kitchen and bawled my bloody eyes out.  After dinner, I went back to the couch.  I had the TV on, but it was muted so just in case he came back and was scratching at the door, I'd be able to hear him.  Finally, I heard something and I ran to the door and there he was.  He stopped and looked up at me as soon as he was halfway in the house, so I had to sweet talk him the rest of the way in.  As soon as he was in, I shut the door, picked him up, and started bawling.  Again.  It was the longest 5 hour time span of my life.  It felt like he was gone for an eternity, and I was not ok with it.  Not ok with it at all.  I wish he could talk and tell me what he did on his adventure.  I hope he remembers how much fun he had while he was out, and I hope he has lots of dreams about it.  Because he is absolutely, without a doubt, never going on one again.  Ever.