Lost and found

My cat went missing on Friday. She is eleven. And Siamese. And a princess. She does not wander which led me to a state of almost-insanity by 26 hours after my last sighting of her. I am running ahead of myself. Friday lunchtime she ambled through the lounge in the pretty way she does, glanced at the fire, feigning disinterest (this is her way - in reality, she loves the fire and is the first to push in front to be closest to it). Then she disappeared. Not instantly, in front of my eyes like something in a Harry Potter book but just by walking out the door and not coming back. As darkness fell and no whisker was to be seen, we searched back rooms, cupboards and other dark, cat-swallowing places. Nothing. Dawn arrived (okay, a bright Saturday morning, let me not give false impressions that I stayed awake all night and resumed the search as the birds started twittering), still no kitty-footsteps or morningly crunches heard from the kitchen as normal. Panic set in. I called the neighbours, vets in the area, my housemate found the best picture of her and missing posters went up on lamposts, it was the full tooty. Minutes ticked by, hours, and I became increasingly tearful and helpless-feeling. As night two fell, my mind flashed to the worst-case scenarios. At about 7pm, a little, squawky (she is Siamese, as I said - they're not known for their melodic tones) meow was heard at the door and relief flooded through me, the house, the housemate, and then everyone I'd called all day, panicky. She was fine, a bit hungry, and quite tired and would not, under any circumstances tell us where she'd been or what she'd been up to. What do 11-year-old, Siamese princesses do when they're away for 28 hours? It's a wonder.