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May. 18th, 2006 08:24 pmSymba decided to run away again last night. Just when I thought he'd gotten past that...
I was using my tumble dryer last night, which requires me to stick the ventilation pipe out the kitchen window. This allows Symba to get out into the garden, and he's normally outside the back door screaming to be let back in again within seconds.
Last night, when it was raining pretty bad, he chose not to ask to be let in.
I didn't notice he'd gone till I staggered off to bed at about one in the morning. I tried calling for him, but he didn't come, and there was no sign of him this morning. On the way home I followed a hunch and headed to my parents house a few blocks away, as that's where he normally goes. Ironically, this week my parents are on holiday in Devon, so there was no-one who would be able to give him any breakfast this morning.
Sure enough, there he was - huddled just inside the back door, keeping out of the rain.
I carried him home, to much protesting on his part, and he's now sulking.
I know he's not especially happy here, and it doesn't help that the place he's lived at most of his life is only five minutes away. But I don't know what else I could do. My parents certainly won't take him back - even if my Dad is very fond of him, my mother's sick of the cat hair.
And there are days when I completely relate to that.
I was using my tumble dryer last night, which requires me to stick the ventilation pipe out the kitchen window. This allows Symba to get out into the garden, and he's normally outside the back door screaming to be let back in again within seconds.
Last night, when it was raining pretty bad, he chose not to ask to be let in.
I didn't notice he'd gone till I staggered off to bed at about one in the morning. I tried calling for him, but he didn't come, and there was no sign of him this morning. On the way home I followed a hunch and headed to my parents house a few blocks away, as that's where he normally goes. Ironically, this week my parents are on holiday in Devon, so there was no-one who would be able to give him any breakfast this morning.
Sure enough, there he was - huddled just inside the back door, keeping out of the rain.
I carried him home, to much protesting on his part, and he's now sulking.
I know he's not especially happy here, and it doesn't help that the place he's lived at most of his life is only five minutes away. But I don't know what else I could do. My parents certainly won't take him back - even if my Dad is very fond of him, my mother's sick of the cat hair.
And there are days when I completely relate to that.
