Not Enough Room to Swing a Cat

Why do cats keep trying to stuff themselves into tight places? It’s like reverse claustrophobia.

Robbie and Peep found their way into the box springs, and it was a while before I found them. Cats of all ages do this. I’m waiting to hear the excuse.

I think I may have posted this before. This is from a book I am still working on.

I briskly stomped my shoes to remove any clinging bits of snow and ice before I entered the house. Threw off my heavy coat, hugged and kissed my wife, and as part of my after-work routine, checked the mailbox, grabbed its contents, and hurriedly closed and locked both doors. While looking over the stack of mail, I called, “Honey, find the cat and put it in the room, Leo’s got an appointment at the vet.” We had learned from experience, whenever we’d be gone for a while, to quarantine that wild creature to spare the rest of the house from his mischievous ways. We searched, but were unable to locate our furry feline. He seemed to have vanished; so, not wanting to be late for our canine’s appointment, I put his leash on, and we headed out.

Two hours later, we were back. Still no sign of the cat. He wasn’t allowed outside, so he had to be somewhere within our moderately sized dwelling. I commanded: “Leo, find the cat.” Unfortunately, he just kept staring at me with a blank expression (which is how he always looked) and did nothing. He was a smart dog, but he wasn’t Lassie, the renowned TV Star Collie. We searched each room starting with the three bedrooms, looking under tables, beds, in closets, the shelves, combed through the basement, the bathroom, and finished up in the living room. I was mystified – where is it?

As I surveyed the room, I thought I heard faint meowing. There it was again, I distinctly heard it! There was a closet next to me; quickly I opened the door, no cat. I still heard it, faint, but distinct. Maybe it’s under or behind the chair, no … maybe behind or under the couch, no … the cushions … behind the curtains … no luck. As I walked a few steps away from the front door, I no longer heard its call. I strained my ears to find the source. Retracing my steps, I ended up next to the front door. No, it can’t be, I opened the door, there he was, sandwiched between both doors! Earlier, when I checked the mail, he had snuck between my legs, and into the tight space between both doors. Because it was winter, his side pressed against the metal screen door was ice cold, and the side against the wood door was warm. I held him for a bit to help warm up. He was fine, and never did that again. Since then, I always look to make sure the space between the doors is cat-free before I close them.