Monday, November 24, 2008


The cat made a break for it.

As long as I've been at this new place, she hasn't greeted me at the door when I come home. Yesterday, she did; so I thought we might be back at the point where she stands near the door and I have to make sure she doesn't get out.

I had maintenance come to the apartment today, and made a point of telling them to look out for the cat.

They did. I came home today, and I saw the cat right inside the door.

Then I saw her right outside the door.

That's right -- I was so concerned about the maintenance guy not letting her out, I let her out.

I'm one of those people who really tries to be rational in a crisis, so I made a point of grabbing my keys before I ran after her.

She ran down the hall one way. She ran down the hall the other way. Much running.

I ran after her calling, "Jasmine!" This did not work; she just ran more.

I stood still and did that little clicking noise you do with your tongue to get a cat to come. She actually responded. (This is shocking, truly.) I picked her up.

Holding tight, I took her for a little walk down the hallway so she could see what she was missing. Much squirming on her part. Couldn't tell if she wanted me to let her go so she could run, or if she didn't like outside and wanted to go back in. I didn't want to find this out the hard way, so went back in the apartment, closed the door, and let her go. And now she's really normal, as though nothing ever happened.

(Cat freaked me OUT.)


Wil said...

The tale of Jasmine and the Absent-minded Owner reminds me of a feral cat that once claimed me as his "Sugar Daddy". One summer's eve, on a whim, I scooped up this porch-bound Lothario and tucked him under my arm and proceeded in through the summer kitchen to the main part of the house. I then set the ordinarily outgoing fellow down in the middle of the living room. He trembled, eyes as big as saucers. From somewhere deep down came a throttled wail, growing in strength and timbre until the screech reached fire engine proportions. With a leap he fastened upon the window screen, never again looking inward nor upward. I ended up having to remove the screen in order to dislodge him. And never again will I attempt to bring a feral cat into the house. I lost half my hearing that day -- I won't risk the loss of the remainder.

Lori said...

I'm glad she didn't get away. I was wondering how she was doing in her new home.