Is there such a thing as a cat therapist? A so-called Cat Whisperer? We’ve seen a show with someone claiming to communicate and calm cats, but can he do it? Really? If so, we need him. The night of the robbery our big boy Jones got outside through the gaping hole in the back door. While we were standing around in sheer shock he calmly stepped through the broken glass and wandered up the tall grass, sniffing and twitching the entire way. We managed to grab him and get him, protesting the entire way, back into the house safe and sound
…but Jones hasn’t been the same since. He’s neurotic and whiney. He scratches at things a lot more. He cries louder than ever. And he’s always trying to escape. If it’s not the front door it’s the back door. If it’s not the windows in the bedroom it’s the bathroom or the kitchen. More than once I have caught him hanging from the screen three feet above the floor, his claws tearing the metal fabric as his weight pulls him down. Our screens won’t last the rest of the summer.
This morning Jones was able to open the screen door by hanging on the handle. Hanging on the handle! Kisa was taking a shower and I was in the basement doing laundry. He had a good 15-20 minute head start on us before we even knew he was missing. We didn’t even need to know he was missing as soon as we saw the door open as it was. We knew he was out. Panic set it. It’s not that we want strictly indoor animals. I grew up with the almost hourly routine of Let the Cat Out – Let the Cat In as Lucifer couldn’t decide which side of the door she wanted to be on. Vixen was the same way. In and out. Out and in. But that was a rural island off the coast of Maine where the only real danger for felines was getting into a scuffle with another cat or getting kidnapped by some well-meaning tourist who thought it was a stray. Here, in this neck of the woods cats have a lot more to deal with – fast-moving vehicles, shotgun-mean neighbors, call of the wild coyotes, and terrorizing teens. Okay, I exaggerate, but only a little. This is no place for an overfed, spoiled mama’s boy kitty.
After 15 frantic minutes of searching and swearing a neighbor pointed us in the general direction of where she saw him last. “Big cat? White with black spots?” We nod furiously. “That way” as she points to the main road. I pictured reckless teens speeding down the road playing “kill the cat.” It took a few minutes more but we finally captured the cat.
Later we went to the pet store for a harness and lead. If you can’t beat him…