When I got out of the shower, and came back downstairs, there were only 3. That is one less than my obsessive counting list needed. Uh oh. So, I looked. I looked *everywhere*. Downstairs, upstairs, in the back storage room, in the basement, under the sofa, in all of the shoes, in the bedrooms, the cupboards. I couldn't find him anywhere. I was starting to have panicky visions of having to call the humane society to tell them I had only three remaining. Not good.
So, I went upstairs, finished getting ready for work, and though about how, exactly, I was going to confess to losing one, hoping I'd find him before I made that call. And I did. He was sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor when I came back downstairs, like nothing had ever happened. Where he was, I don't know. But, the count is back at four. Everything is a-ok. Phew!