Escape Attempt Averted (This Time)

I think it’s pretty clear from what I’ve written on this site that we love our cats. We spoil them with food and affection, and in turn they have excellent litter box manners and don’t claw the furniture. It’s a pretty fair trade.

One thing we don’t do, though, is let them outside. They are 100% indoor cats, and have been their whole lives, even before we brought them home. They have never pranced in the grass, or climbed a tree, or chased a bird. But that also means that they haven’t gotten a flea or tick bite, been attacked by a dog, or had to run to avoid cars. Again, a pretty fair trade.

But that doesn’t mean they haven’t tried to get out. Whenever we open a door in the apartment, they sprint to get on the other side of it. Most of the time, it’s the closet doors – open the hall closet, and within seconds you can hear one of them (usually Zelda) come sprinting and meowing and leaping through the open door into the dark abyss of stored blankets and pillows and electronics boxes.

The front door is tricky. At least at this apartment, they’re a foyer and staircase between our apartment’s front door and the main front door. That wasn’t the case in our last apartment, which required a screen and airlock protocol every time we left the apartment.

For the most part, we haven’t had any problems shooing the cats away from the door when we opened or closed it. Until Friday night.

Friday night was a rainy, dreary night. We hadn’t gone grocery shopping, and to satisfy our hungry bellies, decided to order in rather than trekking outside in the yucky weather. When our order arrived, I shooed the cats away from the apartment door, shut it behind me, and went downstairs to the main door to meet the delivery guy.

Apparently, when I opened the front door, the change in air pressure caused our apartment door to pop open. The cats, seizing the rare opportunity to see the world behind this door, made a dash for it. I heard shouts from Mr. Martini, heard the cats meowing, and in a panic, did the first thing I could think of to keep the cats from getting outside.

I slammed the door closed right in the delivery guy’s face. Leaving him stranded on our front step. Holding our food order. In the pouring down rain.

Nice, huh?

We grabbed the cats, and Mr. Martini brought them back upstairs to our apartment. I opened the door and apologized profusely to the delivery guy, explaining the situation. He was not that amused, and I can’t really blame him.

I gave him a big tip, and I think we’ll put off ordering from that place for awhile until the memory of this incident fades.

Meanwhile, I think the cats are plotting to get break out of the apartment again. They’ve tasted freedom, and now they want more.

It’s nice here and all, but I just know that there’s more fun to be had in the basement. You can’t convince me otherwise.