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cjlasky7A weird little tale to amuse you on a cold and rainy Sunday....
Every morning, around 6:30 a.m., our six year old Russian Blue tomcat, Louie, parks himself at the top of the steps leading to the second floor of our house. He waits--sometimes patiently, sometimes with a loud "meow!" of urgency--for me to get up, take down the gate separating us, give him a reassuring stroke or scratch, and go downstairs to feed him breakfast. It's a comforting ritual for us both.
Yesterday morning, I got up late, around 9 a.m. I went to the gate to check on my little friend, who must have been hungry.
He wasn't there.
This was alarming. He's ALWAYS there, dependable as the sunrise. I shot downstairs, calling his name.
I thought I heard something from the kitchen.
I stood in front of the giant breakfront occupying the left side of our kitchen. Loud meowing was coming from somewhere in that area. But where? In a frenzy, I opened up all the drawers and doors on the breakfront, opened the refrigerator (tucked into the middle of the breakfront) and the freezer. No cat. The meowing got louder. Where the hell was he? This was starting to feel eerily familiar....
(Does anybody here remember an episode of the original Twilight Zone called "Little Girl Lost"? Parents hear the cries of their young daughter coming from her bedroom, but even though they hear her, she can't be found anywhere. In true Twilight Zone fashion, she slipped through an opening in the wall to an alternate dimension.
Beautifully written by Richard Matheson; even though it's an outlandish premise, Matheson taps into the primal fear of losing your child in a split-second. After that episode, the image of the markings on the wall defining the intersection point never really leaves your head. My wife said she was tempted to yell, "Bring the chalk!")
Getting back to the story: I called up to my wife, and she and our son came downstairs, double time. Surveying the breakfront, she spotted a grey blur on top the refrigerator, near the back. "There he is." The middle of the breakfront has a "lip" that comes down around three quarters of the way to the back of the refrigerator. Louie obviously squeezed under that lip to go exploring--and then got too scared or confused to come back out.
He seemed to be okay. He was just scared. We tried coaxing him out with food, with a new toy, with pleading--but he wouldn't budge. Finally, I had to roll up my sleeves and drag his kitty butt out of there, and he did not go quietly. ("Put your head down, Louis, HEAD DOWN!"
He wasn't hurt (and I wasn't hurt) and the household returned to what passes for normal. (He slept well that night.)
My wife teases the cat about the experience, but I get the feeling he'd rather forget the whole, embarrassing incident....
Every morning, around 6:30 a.m., our six year old Russian Blue tomcat, Louie, parks himself at the top of the steps leading to the second floor of our house. He waits--sometimes patiently, sometimes with a loud "meow!" of urgency--for me to get up, take down the gate separating us, give him a reassuring stroke or scratch, and go downstairs to feed him breakfast. It's a comforting ritual for us both.
Yesterday morning, I got up late, around 9 a.m. I went to the gate to check on my little friend, who must have been hungry.
He wasn't there.
This was alarming. He's ALWAYS there, dependable as the sunrise. I shot downstairs, calling his name.
I thought I heard something from the kitchen.
I stood in front of the giant breakfront occupying the left side of our kitchen. Loud meowing was coming from somewhere in that area. But where? In a frenzy, I opened up all the drawers and doors on the breakfront, opened the refrigerator (tucked into the middle of the breakfront) and the freezer. No cat. The meowing got louder. Where the hell was he? This was starting to feel eerily familiar....
(Does anybody here remember an episode of the original Twilight Zone called "Little Girl Lost"? Parents hear the cries of their young daughter coming from her bedroom, but even though they hear her, she can't be found anywhere. In true Twilight Zone fashion, she slipped through an opening in the wall to an alternate dimension.
Beautifully written by Richard Matheson; even though it's an outlandish premise, Matheson taps into the primal fear of losing your child in a split-second. After that episode, the image of the markings on the wall defining the intersection point never really leaves your head. My wife said she was tempted to yell, "Bring the chalk!")
Getting back to the story: I called up to my wife, and she and our son came downstairs, double time. Surveying the breakfront, she spotted a grey blur on top the refrigerator, near the back. "There he is." The middle of the breakfront has a "lip" that comes down around three quarters of the way to the back of the refrigerator. Louie obviously squeezed under that lip to go exploring--and then got too scared or confused to come back out.
He seemed to be okay. He was just scared. We tried coaxing him out with food, with a new toy, with pleading--but he wouldn't budge. Finally, I had to roll up my sleeves and drag his kitty butt out of there, and he did not go quietly. ("Put your head down, Louis, HEAD DOWN!"
He wasn't hurt (and I wasn't hurt) and the household returned to what passes for normal. (He slept well that night.)
My wife teases the cat about the experience, but I get the feeling he'd rather forget the whole, embarrassing incident....
