A few weeks ago, my cat, a six year old DSH named Leo, escaped from the house from the back porch while the Murse was taking out the garbage. Usually, we notice right away when he slips out, but it was late in the evening, and we didn’t notice. He ended up out all night, and in the late afternoon of the next day, I noticed I hadn’t seen him all day. My cat is front declawed (yes, I know, I’m opening myself up for a royal trolling), and he doesn’t spend any time outside unless he liberates himself by stalking the windows and doors. I feared the worst for him: The longest he’d ever been out for was an hour or so, and he usually stayed pretty close to the house. I couldn’t find him.
I circled the house making kissy sounds and clicking my tongue to attract him, but I saw and heard nothing. I thought for sure I’d find him splattered across the busy road that’s half a block up, where people scream by at ludicrous speed. Just as I was about to climb the back porch steps and give up, I heard the tiniest of meows. I couldn’t even figure out where it was coming from, it was so faint. I clicked my tongue and listened some more. He was under the porch, sandwiched in a window well, and he wouldn’t come to me. Continue reading