Frisky, our cat, had a thirst for open spaces, though he was always a house cat and had no claws (thanks to us) to climb trees or hunt mice. Confined to the limits of the brick walls, his only reprieve was the chance that someone heading out onto the deck took their time closing the screen door behind them, giving him the opportunity to slide past a leg and taste fresh air. Of course, once he was outside, he immediately regretted the decision, and chances are he slid out so fast that door opener didn’t notice and closed the door behind them. A domestic cat stranded outside. Panic insued. What to do? Where to go?
Alarmed by his fast-approaching owners, he galloped across the boards, his tiny paws thumping on the wood; he jumped past the steps and shimmied underneath the deck. There he sat, far out of our reach, probably to avoid retribution, or perhaps he worked so hard to get outside, he may as well buy himself a few minutes there. And we’d grow tired of calling his name gently and patting the ground, so we’d toss gravel in his direction or shoot him with a water gun until he moved close enough to the side that one of us could reach under and grab him. We’d pick him up and bring him back inside. We’d close the door securely. And by the door he remained for his next chance at escape.
*What’s a memory you have of a beloved pet? Leave your story in the comments.*