Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
Wednesday, November 05, 2003 The Prisoner
I’ve written before about how my cat Strat likes to sneak out of the house. I just don’t feel like linking to those entries. You can take my word for it. Better yet, you can go through the archives. Better better yet, you can ask all of your friends to go through the archives. Whatever works for you.
Anyway, until last weekend our house looked pretty nice from the street. What with all the painting and landscaping and so forth that Trash and my parents and I had done over the summer, we had what some might call curb appeal. It was pretty nice. Until last weekend.
That’s because before last weekend, our storm door was a dingy, rickety horror that looked like rusted-out ass. Getting the rest of the house spiffed up made its assitude stand out even more. It looked like the door of a Joad house Photoshopped onto an otherwise perfectly respectable dwelling. That changed last weekend. Because, as I mentioned Monday, my parents came over and I helped them install a shiny, clean, new storm door. Now the house looks really nice instead of pretty nice.
During the entire process, stretches of which necessitated the front door being ajar, Strat remained in the entryway in a state of high alert, waiting for all of us to look away at the same time so he could sneak out and rub his anus on the sidewalk or whatever it is he does. Except when the inside front door was closed. During those periods, he concentrated on opening it. Which, to our everlasting frustration up until last weekend, he is generally able to do when the door is unlocked.
It was also to our everlasting frustration (up until this weekend) that the storm door would never latch properly on its own. It was old and out of true and probably installed by Dr. Jellyfinger in the first place, so getting it to shut properly required one to yank on it as if one were pulling a marlin out of the Gulf of Mexico. Generally not one’s first priority when one is trying to get into the house with an armload of groceries, mail, dry cleaning, beer, and donor organs. Especially when one figures that since we’re in the habit of locking the main door anyway once we’re inside, the cat will never get that far anyway.
Funny little digression here: Friday afternoon, Trash called my office from home.
“Did you see Strat this morning?”
“I don’t remember.”
“I don’t think I did.”
“And I don’t think he slept on our bed last night.”
“When did you let him out?”
Arguing about who let the cat out and when is much more diverting and only slightly less productive than actually searching the actual neighborhood for the actual cat. So we did that first thing for a while, and then Trash went out to do the second thing. Apparently Strat had spent the night in our detached garage. The question of which one of us had let the cat out and when was never properly resolved, and it’s probably better that way, in the event that it was me.
So one might think that Strat’s multiple escape attempts this past weekend while we were working on the door would have been especially irritating. This, as it turns out, is not the case. Having him constantly interrupt our efforts with his many abortive escape attempts served as a constant reminder that all future escape attempts would be abortive. We got the storm door hung, adjusted the pull on the closer just so, opened it up, and let it swing to. It latched automatically. Effortlessly. We looked at Strat through the storm door window and cackled at him evilly.
We were probably tempting fate when we did that, but it’s been like three days and he hasn’t gotten out of the house since.
Today’s best search phrase: None for me today. Go look at Pamie’s, if you haven’t already. posted by M. Giant 4:55 PM 0 comments