jennings rampage

Oh noes! Kitteh danger!

The cats haven’t yet adjusted to the new environment particularly well. During the day, they basically hide in my room and come out only to complain to me about their situation. Sure, they have most of their old stuff (like the bed and the television), but the trees are gone and they’re not quite used to the hardwood floors and four humans in the apartment is way more than they’ve ever had to tolerate. Sometimes they sit in Dave’s window, but for the most part, they’re under the bed or in their crates in the closet. At night, they explore the whole place, but when the humans are lurking around, it’s time to lay low. From their perspective, they may as well be on a completely different planet.

Dave’s bedroom had a leak in the ceiling last week, which needed to be repaired, and required drywall to be replaced. Today, painters arrived to paint the new drywall, and the door and window were left open to ventilate.

When Dave got home this evening, he told me his bedroom was wide open, and I got up to look for Stephanie, since she’s always been a flight risk. Dave’s bedroom is the only window that opens up onto an alley that leads to a catacomb of alleys that surround the three adjacent buildings. If she got out there, probably trouble. So I did a quick survey of the usual spots, smoked Bella out of the closet, but no Stephanie.

Dave, Jason, and I headed out to the catacomb to try to find that fucking cat. It was an unusually cold and wet day in New York, and every maintenance room and gate seemed to be open, and there were at least a dozen ways she could have made it to the street. I tried not to let on, but I was pretty worried — Stephanie had a history of taking kitty cat vacations when we lived in Chapel Hill, but the woods around my old duplex were much less dangerous than Manhattan. We decided to leave Dave’s window and door open to give her a path back home, and I planned to spend the evening in my room waiting for Stephanie to decide she’d had enough adventure.

I sat on the edge of my bed getting slightly more anxious about my missing cat, when I felt a slight vibration. It was the exact same vibration that happens when one of the cats scratches her chin while sitting on the bed, but Bella was sitting on the floor — Stephanie was close. I checked under the bed again, no dice. I lifted the bed skirt and checked the gash the cats put in the boxspring, and there she was, a regular Anne Frank, hiding from the Nazis inside the boxspring.

That fucking cat.