The Escape Claws

It goes like this. The rescue dog is minding her own damn business, but happens to walk near, past or just this side of Los Angeles where a family cat is reclining.
Then there's ss, sss, SSS, HHISSSSSSS. A lot of prancing and dancing and bobbing and weaving and ... we really should put the dog in boxing gloves cause I have never seen moves quite like this except on a boxer.

Rescue Dog Neela

Then there's a lot of yelling and pulling and separating and everyone going to their respective corners for canine timeout. I'd like to say this is a rare occurrence, but it's not.

Since moving to the island, this is a typical day in pet paradise. Maybe it's because we have taken so long in setting up the lower level "granny flat" for our commercial fishing, young adult son who is the owner of the rescue dog.

Certainly living even temporarily in close quarters with 3 cats and 2 dogs, each who spans opposite ends of the age range, can put a damper on individual freedom. But recently it has escalated into all-out animal guerrilla (sorry about the pun) warfare around here.

Door in Question

So it's no surprise that in the middle of a dark and stormy night over the weekend, when the back door blew open from a 40 mph gust, two of the three cats, Hermione and Diesel, decided to throw caution to the wind (again, sorry with the pun), and took advantage of an open door to temporary freedom.

Problem was, the door banged shut.

Diesel

By 4 am, Ms. Diesel (I know, don't ask), was found hunkered down by the lower level doors, sopping wet and raising a ruckus. But Hermione.... not a sign.

Morning dawned and still no Hermione.
Lunch went by, an event rarely missed by this feline, and no Hermione.
Out went our son and Rescue Dog, out into the adjoining wildlife preserve, down the Brightwood Trail to the harborside to sniff out the MIA enemy.

Brightwood Trail

Still no sign.

It was then it dawned on us that Hermione might have invoked the Escape Claws - that little-known and rare family pet document, that says that now that we were living in one place, and the cats ever decided that they could not take the rambunctious newcomer, they had the right to choose outdoor living.

We were stunned, but noted that Hermione, of all cats, was the most independent, and if she felt strongly about not subjecting herself to constant irritation and living on tabletops, then so be it.

Hans Christian Anderson once penned, "Just living is not enough," said the butterfly, "one must have sunshine, freedom and a little flower."

Resigned, we vowed to abide by our little butterfly of a feline Hermione's decision, and sadly stopped looking.

I was lying on my bed well into the evening that night reading, when I heard a rustle, and my son plopped a very happy-looking Hermione down beside me. He had heard a persistent mewling at his apartment door and went to investigate.

I could say that it was her decision to come back. I could also say that I prayed, used reiki and called in all my angelic friends for a little persuasive action.

I could say we all learned a lesson in relationships and freedom. Living here on the island, you can sense a different attitude towards things like this. People are more readily able to allow freedoms you would seldom encounter in Urban American Living.

But in the end, I think, our little butterfly found a loophole in her Escape Claws.

Have a good one. :)