Living up to his reputation as sanity-challenged, this morning my cat Sylvester was on fire, tearing around the house like I fed him chocolate cake, soda, and sugar bombs for breakfast. As I was finishing my make-up at the bathroom mirror, he cannonballed into the room, leap-frogged from the toilet seat, and hurled himself at the window, with what intent, I have no clue. The blinds were down, so his big, furry body didn’t fit on the slippery windowsill (old-school tile sills), and he flung out all four feet to catch his balance on the windowsill and the towel rack.
I turned, exasperated, and commanded, “Calm down, now!”
As if he understood exactly what I said, he completely froze, suspended mid-air with his legs tossed all around, and in the silence that followed, I could almost hear the creaking, squeaking rusty wheels turning in his scrambled mind: “If I stay…very still…she can’t see me!”
I sighed and went back to my make-up. Cats can be so obnoxious. Later, as I dashed through the house to make sure all windows were shut, all blinds pulled up so the cats can see outside and don’t get it into their heads that they must destroy the said blinds in order to watch squirrels and birds they can’t catch anyway, and various other cat-proofing attempts, Sylvester leapt out like a hyperactive street robber from behind his scratching post, swung a Chewbacca paw at my leg, then bounded victoriously out of the room.
Would it be terribly wrong to accidentally on purpose let him sneak out the back door, with a little friendly help from my foot, then slam the door really fast and lock it, leaning against it with a huge sigh of relief and a delirious smile?