city cat in the country: try not to die
Well well well... Morrison probably ticked off another life last night. You see, because he is 13 years old, has a history of getting stuck in trees, and hasn't been out of doors since Bush's first term, he has been relegated to the house here on the art farm. You'd think 3,000 square feet would satisfy him. But no. Every time a door opens he's trying to get on the other side--typical cat curiosity. That's generally fine if he's exploring the garage, but last night he snuck out the back door while J was having a smoke.
Upon retiring for the night, L noted that he didn't see Morrison on his way to bed. "Eh, he's probably sleeping somewhere warm, being all cat quiet," I shrugged. As it happened, L could barely sleep because he feared Morrison was outside. At 5:00 AM, L got up to look for the orange beastie. Sure enough, there were cat paw prints all over the snow. Oh. God. What if they coyotes got him? And the temp dropped to 17 overnight... The mind races when your putting on eleventy seven layers of clothing so you can go outside in the predawn tundra to potentially retrieve your good cat friend's stiff carcass.
I hadn't even made it outside when I looked through the solarium to see Morrison trudging towards the house, a tired and cranky L in tow. Our best guess is that he stayed alive in the barn's new addition, which is insulated. It's a good thing he could get inside--one door still requires hanging.
Currently, Morrison is sleeping soundly on a chair, nestled deeply in heavy blankets. Idiot. I hope he's learned his lesson. Meanwhile, L will need a nap and I should trust his instincts. Oh, and J has *got* to keep a better eye on him when he opens an exterior door. Man, what a morning. Now where's my coffee...
Upon retiring for the night, L noted that he didn't see Morrison on his way to bed. "Eh, he's probably sleeping somewhere warm, being all cat quiet," I shrugged. As it happened, L could barely sleep because he feared Morrison was outside. At 5:00 AM, L got up to look for the orange beastie. Sure enough, there were cat paw prints all over the snow. Oh. God. What if they coyotes got him? And the temp dropped to 17 overnight... The mind races when your putting on eleventy seven layers of clothing so you can go outside in the predawn tundra to potentially retrieve your good cat friend's stiff carcass.
I hadn't even made it outside when I looked through the solarium to see Morrison trudging towards the house, a tired and cranky L in tow. Our best guess is that he stayed alive in the barn's new addition, which is insulated. It's a good thing he could get inside--one door still requires hanging.
Currently, Morrison is sleeping soundly on a chair, nestled deeply in heavy blankets. Idiot. I hope he's learned his lesson. Meanwhile, L will need a nap and I should trust his instincts. Oh, and J has *got* to keep a better eye on him when he opens an exterior door. Man, what a morning. Now where's my coffee...