How is it that I could love a cat so much that when he gets out and I can't find him I would be reduced to tears?

Last night at around 11:00 I realized that I had not yet fed my cat and I decided that he was probably very hungry and would want to eat ASAP. I went upstairs to put his food in the bowl and I called for him to come and eat. Usually when I call for him he comes running from where ever he is curled up. I called him, he didn't come. I wend downstairs and called for him, still he didn't come. I started looking for him. I looked in every room under every piece of furniture and behind every box, still no Napoleon.

I asked Carri, "Have you seen Napoleon?" She hadn't seen him and shared with me that he had gotten out when she was doing laundry earlier. She didn't notice he got out until she was back inside and saw him through the glass door. He apparently wanted to come in and was running towards the door. He didn't realize that the door was shut and ran right into the glass. He is not a very bright cat. Carri then wondered if he had gotten out when she went back outside later.

Since he wasn't in the apartment and she had gone outside and I hadn't seen him since she went outside I deduced that he had gotten out and was in the woods. I took a small maglite penlight and went on a search. I spotted him on a path infront of me and as I got closer he went into the woods. I walked through underbrush to try and catch him but there were too many thorns and he was too fast. He got out of my sight and Carri spotted him by the front door. When I got up there she had lost sight of him too. I spent some more time searching and didn't find him. Carri had to go to bed so she went inside and I kept looking.

At first, I was mad at Napoleon for getting out and running from me when I called him but after looking for him for and hour I was starting to worry that I wouldn't catch him and he would have to stay outside all night. I was concerned that he would get run over, wander off, or be attacked by another animal. As I sat there calling for him I started to think about how upset I would be if he got killed or never came back. So, I called my brother. As I told him what happened I began to cry. He offered to come and help me look and I asked him to bring a better flashlight or batteries. Thank goodness for a brother who is a bit of an insomniac.

Bubba came and we looked again and still didn't see him. This time we had a better flashlight and I knew that Napoleon was not where we were looking. After some time had passed we went inside and Bubba had some leftover pizza. While he was eating we heard some cats fighting. We ran outside to see who it was and sure enough there was Napoleon. I ran towards him and he ran off into the woods again. This time I decided not to go in after him. Now I knew that he was staying by the apartment I could finally have a little peace and go to bed.

The next morning when Carri got up she opened the front door and there he was. She brought him up to my room and he came in and woke me up with his purring. I kindly informed him that if he ever got out again and put me through what I went through last night I would be selling him to the chinese restaurant nearby for meat.

What I want to know is when did I become so attached to this cat that the very though of him having to stay outside all night made me cry?