As some may be aware, but many are not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mouse catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some years ago.

Recently, I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.

For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits, I will run the series again from Episode 1

These are the memories of our time together…

This is Chester.  I’m not sure if we are still speaking.

For a few days now he has been skulking around the house, turning up, under my feet, without me knowing where he is.

This, I’m getting to understand, is his stealth mode, and to be honest, he’s getting quite good at it.

I’m wondering if this is because I told him to be seen but not heard, because in the last few days he’s been sitting by the back door, and making a lot of noise.

It’s unfortunate that several birds have decided to drop by every morning, and sit on the fence.  Perhaps they are doing the avian version of thumbing their noses at him.

Then, I thought it might be just another ruse to get outside, thinking that if he makes enough noise I just let him out to get some peace and quiet,

We’re now at the getting under my feet phase of the escape plan.

But…

With all plans, there is always a tiny wrinkle that comes out of left field and sends everything spiraling towards disaster.

Someone, someone who will remain nameless, left the back screen door slightly ajar, thinking they’d closed it.  It’s a little tricky that way, and I had been promising to fix it but hadn’t got around to it.

And, yes, Chester is clever enough to realize that a slight gap is all he needs, along with a few unsupervised moments.

And silence.

That’s what brought his cunning plan undone.  Days and days of annoying me, then suddenly nothing.  If it was a child you’d be immediately suspicious.  But a cat?

Damn straight.

He was half out the door as I caught him, just six inches from freedom.  Six inches.  And good living, because the gap was just not quite wide enough for him to squeeze through quickly.

Now we’re definitely not speaking!

 

As some may be aware, but many not, Chester, my faithful writing assistant, mice catcher, and general pain in the neck, passed away some months ago.

Recently I was running a series based on his adventures, under the title of Past Conversations with my cat.

For those who have not had the chance to read about all of his exploits I will run the series again from Episode 1

These are the memories of our time together…

This is Chester.  I’m not sure if we are still speaking.

For a few days now he has been skulking around the house, turning up, under my feet, without me knowing where he is.

This, I’m getting to understand, is his stealth mode, and to be honest, he’s getting quite good at it.

I’m wondering if this is because I told him to be seen but not heard, because in the last few days he’s been sitting by the back door, and making a lot of noise.

It’s unfortunate that several birds have decided to drop by every morning, and sit on the fence.  Perhaps they are doing the avian version of thumbing their noses at him.

Then, I thought it might be just another ruse to get outside, thinking that if he makes enough noise I just let him out to get some peace and quiet,

We’re now at the getting under my feet phase of the escape plan.

But…

With all plans, there is always a tiny wrinkle that comes out of left field and sends everything spiraling towards disaster.

Someone, someone who will remain nameless, left the back screen door slightly ajar, thinking they’d closed it.  It’s a little tricky that way, and I had been promising to fix it but hadn’t got around to it.

And, yes, Chester is clever enough to realize that a slight gap is all he needs, along with a few unsupervised moments.

And silence.

That’s what brought his cunning plan undone.  Days and days of annoying me, then suddenly nothing.  If it was a child you’d be immediately suspicious.  But a cat?

Damn straight.

He was half out the door as I caught him, just six inches from freedom.  Six inches.  And good living, because the gap was just not quite wide enough for him to squeeze through quickly.

Now we’re definitely not speaking!