Continuing adventures of the little cat that changed our lives: The late-night chase
A year ago, I introduced François in this column — our now 4-year-old Siamese cat who came to live with us about 2 ½ years ago following a troubled first year of life in a placement with a family that did not work out.
He was and remains a joy for my wife and me in our empty-nest years. He is almost always no more than a few feet away from one or both of us. He loves to lie down and be patted and to snuggle between us in bed. He is always looking for the highest spot he can find and reach, a perch where he can stare straight into my eyes as I am standing in front of him.
But now it’s time for Chapter 2 of the François story.
It goes back to last year, late May or early June, in an episode that was so traumatic for me that I could not have written about it at the time.
It started one evening at about 10:30 p.m. as I was getting the house closed up and was about to head to bed. My wife had gone to bed ahead of me that evening.
A bit later, coming back into the house after setting the garbage out for pick up the next morning, I had closed the door from the house to the garage. Then, I went to the security system and set it for the night. Suddenly, I realized that François was not around. Could he have got into the garage while I was setting out the garbage? I ran to the door to the garage, swung it open, and quickly realized I had left the garage door open after setting out the garbage.
François is an indoor cat and an escape artist. But this time, the world beyond had been handed to him on a silver platter. Just sneak into the garage without letting me notice. He is very adept at such moves
The front of the house is well-lit, and I could see him in the distance running and leaping through the brush that leads to a small forest that is part of our property. He must have been 100 feet ahead of me. I ran after him. But I’m no match for his youth, speed, and agility.
Still, I was able to keep him in sight, even after he entered the dark forest.
I got close enough to him once to make a leap and a grab. I stumbled in the process. He was able to continue his journey. I got up – slowly, but without serious injury – and followed.
After about 10 minutes of chasing him through the forest, I saw a flashlight pointing at me from another angle within the forest, maybe 15-20 feet away.
“POLICE,” came the shout. Of course. I had not taken the time to shut the door to the house behind me as I ran for Francois. The security system moved through its timed cycle, waiting for an open door to be closed. When that did not happen, the security company was notified. They tried to call the house but got no answer. My wife can be a sound sleeper. The security company’s next call automatically went to the police.
I could not see the officer through the forest, but I explained what had happened, quickly, and he . . .
No, he did not offer to assist. Satisfied that no crime had been committed, he left.
Damn. His flashlight, not to mention a second pair of hands and eyes, would have been helpful.
I resumed pursuit. Francois ran out over the curb into a busy street but stayed close to the curb as he ran back toward me. I got him. I was able to gather him in my arms.
But now I had a dilemma. The shortest route back to the house was through the forest. It was dark and I could not be positive that I would not stumble again. I was lucky the first time, just a scratch on my arm. I could not risk being that lucky again. I decided to walk the much longer route around the edge of the forest – on the sidewalk and along the curb.
You can guess where this is going. I could not hang onto François, whose ability to twist and squirm seems like something from a circus. He wrestled free.
I gave chase again, but he got way ahead of me this time, heading back into the thick of the forest. I wandered blindly through the forest calling him. No response.
Then, I spotted him on the opposite side of the forest, in the clear. He was headed toward the street on the other side of our property, a much less trafficked street, but lined with houses and yards providing great hiding places.
I reached the clear area, where he could see me, and called again. He looked sideways at me, then looked at the house. I had left the garage door wide open and the lights on when I first ran after him – simply because it saved me a few seconds.
He chose the garage, not me. He ran to it and crawled under one of the cars.
The entire episode had taken about 30 minutes. I was exhausted, and he was ready to come back into the house.
In addition, through the course of the chase, I realized that I might not be able to capture him at all. That busy street – if he had crossed it and succeeded, he would have been loose in a large, unlit city park. . .
In the aftermath of this scary situation – at least for me – there had been a couple of situations with François that suggested he might not be quite so curious about things outside. Just a few small, behavioral hints, like choosing once not to run when a door got open. I was close enough to grab him that time, but he had stopped when I yelled at him to “stay,” a word he does know. Still, he’s a cat and he sometimes pretends that he doesn’t know a particular word because he wants to do what he wants to do.
Then, more recently, it happened again. I was in the garage, François was in the garage, and, yes, somehow, the garage door was open just a few inches. Enough for him, at 8 ½ pounds. He had seen the escape path before I did. I exited the garage and looked down the driveway. He was about 30 feet from the house, just standing in the middle of the driveway looking around. He had not run toward the forest.
I called him. He turned around, came directly to me, and waited as I picked him up.
I never would guarantee that he would not choose to run again. But this time, he didn’t. Progress or luck? Does not matter. I will accept either.
Another cat, another story
While I’m on the subject of a cat who got away, here’s a great one I found on Facebook several months back.
A woman’s cat got out and ran. A male. She called for him and waited and worried. Nothing. Her daughter suggested that her mother take her other cat, a female, and put her in the carrier, then set the carrier outside in front of the door.
“She hates the carrier, she’ll howl,” the mother said. “Yes, that’s the idea,” the daughter replied, approximately.
It worked, rather quickly. The missing cat heard a howl he recognized and came to the doorstep.
Happy ending for all, thanks to a brilliant solution.
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Thanks for your comment and for your cat stories. Great story about Cebu. The stories of the cats that almost didn't make it are amazing. It's heartening that so many of them have turned out well. Best wishes.
My heart is racing and my palms are sweating. As a life-long cat lover, I have lived similar moments. The worst: In the mid '60s, we were on a cruise ship heading back to the U.S. In those days, pets were allowed in the kennel. My sister Vicki and I went to visit Cebu, our durable Siamese. I opened the cage and out she shot, headed for the door and jumped on the polished wooden railing and began running. In my usual calm approach to an emergency, I began to cry. It was a ship, for heaven's sake, and this wasn't a river cruise. Vicki, being the smarter of the two of us, left the kennel through the opposite door and was there to greet Cebu when she came screeching around the railing. She was returned to her enclosure, although I believe she received a lecture from both of us. She lived to be 18, and counted Syracuse, N.Y., McLean, Va., Manila, Philippines, McLean, Va., again, and Falls Church, Va., among her homes. A smart, more loving cat I have never known, although please don't share that with Barnie, Bart or Buzz.