Maybe it was or maybe it wasn't actually a big adventure; I suppose we'll never really know. What we do know is this: as we were unpacking from our Thanksgiving visit with my sister--about 10 minutes into that process--we heard meowing. I figured one of the cats had been shut in a bathroom or bedroom and checked every room. Still there was meowing. Then as we walked into the kitchen there was this flash of orange outside one of the kitchen windows and suddenly there was Boomer hanging from one of the kitchen widow screens yowling while Bonnie licked him. 
How long he'd been out there, we'll never know.
You see, my husband entered the house first upon our arrival in order to put Bonnie (our dog) outside so we could unpack without having to deal with her running around. After we discovered Boomer, my husband says, "Ya know, that door was open when I came in, but I didn't think anything of it." The door, you see, hadn't been closing properly for about a week but neither of us had bothered to deal with it, well, because the door used to be a window. Not long after buying our house, we decided to buy a sectional, and although we had carefully measured we had failed to take into account the fact that the middle of the thing wouldn't be flush with the wall. So, the sectional was too long and blocked the door. We really liked the sectional and got a really good deal on it, so rather than return it, we swapped a window and the door. It worked great except for some reason that made sense at the time, the handy person we hired said the door would have to open outward rather than inward. And now the door sometimes pops open.
So, we were sure we'd locked it before leaving. How or when it opened and when Boomer went out is a mystery: maybe it didn’t really lock, maybe our kind cat sitters had gone out to feed our tortoise and the door hadn't closed, or maybe it popped open when my husband came in through the garage with the dog. Whatever the case, the door had opened and Boomer was clinging to the window screen with a wild look in his eyes.
We opened the door, and he came flying into the house and ran under the bed. I ran in to check him out, and he came out from under the bed when I called his name. He crawled into my arms purring like mad. I checked him all over, and he seemed fine: his fur wasn't damp or cold or dirty and even his paws were clean. So, that makes me think the door popped open when we got him, and he went outside as he likes to do sometimes.
To welcome him home, Scooter hissed and spit at him all night. I suppose he might have smelled different--from stress or from being outdoors or both, we'll never know.What I can say, though, is Boomer has been pretty clingy and we're installing a deadbolt.
You see, my husband entered the house first upon our arrival in order to put Bonnie (our dog) outside so we could unpack without having to deal with her running around. After we discovered Boomer, my husband says, "Ya know, that door was open when I came in, but I didn't think anything of it." The door, you see, hadn't been closing properly for about a week but neither of us had bothered to deal with it, well, because the door used to be a window. Not long after buying our house, we decided to buy a sectional, and although we had carefully measured we had failed to take into account the fact that the middle of the thing wouldn't be flush with the wall. So, the sectional was too long and blocked the door. We really liked the sectional and got a really good deal on it, so rather than return it, we swapped a window and the door. It worked great except for some reason that made sense at the time, the handy person we hired said the door would have to open outward rather than inward. And now the door sometimes pops open.
So, we were sure we'd locked it before leaving. How or when it opened and when Boomer went out is a mystery: maybe it didn’t really lock, maybe our kind cat sitters had gone out to feed our tortoise and the door hadn't closed, or maybe it popped open when my husband came in through the garage with the dog. Whatever the case, the door had opened and Boomer was clinging to the window screen with a wild look in his eyes.
We opened the door, and he came flying into the house and ran under the bed. I ran in to check him out, and he came out from under the bed when I called his name. He crawled into my arms purring like mad. I checked him all over, and he seemed fine: his fur wasn't damp or cold or dirty and even his paws were clean. So, that makes me think the door popped open when we got him, and he went outside as he likes to do sometimes.
To welcome him home, Scooter hissed and spit at him all night. I suppose he might have smelled different--from stress or from being outdoors or both, we'll never know.What I can say, though, is Boomer has been pretty clingy and we're installing a deadbolt.
Recent Comments