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And Don’t Come Back…

Yesterday we went grocery shopping and came home with a truckload of groceries. Our car is parked at the street level, where our front door is up one level. Anyone that lives in a similar arrangement knows the fun of getting the bags up the stairs and into the house.

Wifey™ and I try to grab as many bags as we can possibly carry without snapping our arms out the sockets and get them up the stairs and onto the kitchen counter before the blood supply totally stops feeding our lower arms.

As we got upstair and into the kitchen, out of the corner of my eye I saw the cat make a beeline for the front door. At the same moment I asked Wifey™ if she closed the front door on her way in.

Moments later I could see the cat—the indoor cat—making her way OUT the opened front door. Now, we don’t really let her out there. The only outside time she gets is on the back patio where it’s fenced in and about ten feet off the ground. She won’t go anywhere. She’s also very nervous about noises, so it doesn’t take much for her to end up under a pillow or something where she’ll hide until it’s safe to come back out.

Our first reaction was to close the door behind her and let her find out what the real world, without food and a cat box and a couple of nice warm beds and cat toys, would be like. We just know we’d find her huddled near the door in the morning begging for our forgiveness—please, please, please just let me back in. I think it’s called tough love.

In the end, we slowly approached her while she was busy sniffing all of the plants out in the front and threw her back in the house.

But next time, she’s on her own. You want to go out there…go right ahead. I’ll be in the nice warm house sleeping.

We also decided that if someone should steal her, they’d probably just return her with a note saying that she’s too much trouble.

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