When Ms. Annie, the smallest of our eight cats, goes missing for a few hours, I know that she’s out hunting.

If Harriet isn’t there to greet us when we come home, I assume she’s been picked on by one of the other cats, but will make her way back as soon as the course is clear.

When Silverman doesn’t show for breakfast, it’s usually because I forgot that he had gone into his room downstairs the evening before.

But if Mr. Romeo isn’t front and center when I fill the food dishes early in the morning, I worry that he’s gone and gotten in a fight.

That’s what immediately went through my mind this morning. He wasn’t there for breakfast, and still was around when we got back from our walk more than an hour later. A check of the yard didn’t turn up anything. Then, as feared, he crawled out of a hiding place somewhere down the hall and made a grand entrance, moving a little stiffly.

I picked him up and took stock of his situation. His left front leg was bitten or scratched in a couple of places, and I could feel other scratches under the fur. The only saving grace is that, this time around, I’ve got a small stash of antibiotics left over from a previous injury, and could immediately give him a dose.

Tonight, after he’s calmed down, I’ll try to clean the wounds.