Last night, I opened the door, as one might, to bring something inside that was outside.
And my cat Atticus, as cats…. sometimes do
decided
that the moment had come for his great escape.
He snuck out lithely and sheepishly, as if he might only go for a short few feet, and I finished bringing in the items in my hand, talking to him, and then walked out to go grab him, where I was sure he would still be, right next to the house.
He was not.
I continued talking to him, going out past the car.
And there he was, a bolt of orange fluff, dimmed in the moonlight. He did not stop.
He barreled down the road, tail in the air, with what I hoped was a mix of excitement and fear, but may have been pure audacity.
We approached an intersection and I heightened my pace, but in a way as to make him think I was running with him, not towards him, as cats only tolerate teamwork, and then scooped him up and held him by the scruff of his neck and we were heading home by golly.
And we walked home.
And I love this cat.
