Thursday, the day began as it always does, with me staggering out of the downstairs bedroom, expecting to find Tommy just outside my door. The staggering did occur, but no Tommy.
Before I left for work I called and called but still no puddy tat. By then I'm getting concerned and figure there are two options..a. he finally figured out that he could exit the faux screen door in the kitchen or b. he got stuck somewhere in the house and couldn't get out, meaning I could have a deceased and soon to be smelly cat somewhere about!
I had to leave for work but Jan (the cat loves her) came back to the house with me and we again kept calling his name.
While we were outside I looked at the kitchen door screen and there sat Tommy just inside the kitchen screen watching us. Ok..good, he's not dead, but he sure was the worse for wear.
Obviously he had hopped up onto the microwave then up into the rafters because he was dirt, soot, cobwebs and dustballs from one end to the other and anything previously white on his body was charcoal gray.
Jan and I left him to clean himself off and went back to work.
When I returned several hours later I couldn't help notice he was still grungy and so I made a decision...I'd give him a bath...in the tub. I hooked up one of those shower hose extensions gizmos and believe it or not, he sat relatively still while I hosed him down and tried to scrub him. Next I took this soggy mess out of the tub, wrapped him in a big towel and "foofed" him as much as I could. He still looked terribly soggy and so I did what was necessary...blew dry him and again, he wasn't really happy about it, but I kept talking and he just accepted the fact that I wasn't going to quit till the job was done.
Later in the evening I'm sitting in my livingroom, in the recliner, watching tv beside the open livingroom window when I look to my right and see two eyes looking back at me!. You guessed it! That little minx had slipped out through the kitchen screendoor in total darkness and found his way round the house to the window where I was. There he sat meowing and when I went out and called to him, he was back to me in less than the wink of an eye!
When I brought him inside I'm not exaggerating when I tell you his heart was pounding so hard you could see his fur coat going in and out. Then, when he lay on the floor, he started panting like a dog and I was concerned he was having a heart attack so I put the fan on and made sure he was directly in its path. On hindsight, I think he was having an anxiety attack
Now, it's after midnight and I'm heading off to bed. The doors are securly locked, the access hole to the rafters is covered over and there should be no more meandering in this house tonight.
Tommy will be two years old on the 20th which means he is really 14. I'd forgotten how difficult raising a teenager could be. Mercy!