Cats. Eating faces.

Before I left for my run at 9.15 this morning I called Michael and got his voicemail so I assumed that he was running with the clinic. Finished my run, walked past the Starbucks where everyone goes for coffee afterwards but no one was there because it was 11am and they would've come and gone by then.
Got home. Called Michael and left a message on his home line.
Puttered around a little. Talked to Ex-Work Husband. Tried Michael's cell. Nothing. Popped in the shower as Big D was coming over and we had all planned to go for sushi at 1pm.
Called his home again. Nothing. Tried his cell (and he is on call so he is supposed to have it with him). Nothing. Called him at work and there was no answer.
At this point it was around 12.30. I was working on the assumption that he had run with the clinic and so he would have been done at 10am at the absolute latest, so I called the guy he runs with who said "Where were you guys this morning?".
What. The. Fuck.
He had to work last night, but even if he had had to work until 2am he would certainly hear the phone ringing repeatedly: both his home and cell phone. And even if he was out somewhere earlier he should've been home by 12.45 because I told him we were going to walk by and grab him so we could all go for lunch at the restaurant a few blocks down from him.
I called his home again and left a message that I had been told he wasn't at the clinic, that I didn't know where he was and that I was taking his keys and I would be entering his apartment.
Big D arrived at the allotted one o'clock (sorry you had to witness the whole thing, man. What a buzz kill for a Sunday afternoon), asked how I was to which I said "Not good". Got a hug and we jumped in the car to go to Michael's. I bound up the stairs to the 3rd floor after a three minute car ride where I was tailgating every son of a bitch in front of me and thinking thoughts that one should never have to think and already blaming myself for not going down there earlier and working myself into an absolute frenzy so that I was almost sure I wouldn't be able to open his door because I was so distraught about what I might find.
I pound on his door, police style, and I hear "Who is it?" in this tremulous voice. He asks who it is again because I am too dumbfounded/happy/angry/enraged/worried/ecstatic/surprised to answer and I say "It's me" and he opens the door and he's naked because he was in the shower and in the background I hear the voice messages playing and I blurt out any number of inarticulate half sentences and then start crying to which he says "Relax" which, given what I had been through that morning, wasn't the most wonderful response so I said that we were going for sushi and we would meet him there. Whereupon I walk out into the hallway where Big D was patiently waiting (and likely thinking "PMS, much? Thanks for the Mario Andretti ride down here") and then start crying some more as I think about what could have been. And ask "Am I overreacting here" to which Big D said that he didn't think so, and that Michael should be happy that someone was that concerned about him and then went on to make me laugh even though I was still swearing under my breath a little.
Then we all went for sushi.
I had two glasses of wine.
I texted his friend that I had found him. He texted back "Thank god! Did you find him in a back alley passed out? Was he soiled and confused?"
I replied "No. But he will be soiled and confused by the time I am done with him".
Fucker.