little brat ...

 

Friday evening it actually cooled down outside - a smidgen. As I opened the door to step out onto the porch - swoosh! a gray streak went by and I knew immediately that Ike had made a run for it. I didn't bother to yell for help, hoping that I could swoop him up as he stood frozen in amazement that his tactic had worked. He had hid (somewhere) and came out of no where to make this brazen escape to the great outdoors. But I under-estimated my declining reflexes and his jack-rabbit response as he darted to the side of the house in the blink of an eye. Well, I was pretty deep into it by now - but still held out hope that all the newness of making it this far would retard his fleeing skills. It was brat, I mean cat in bush and me, with enticing stick, playing coy. Pretending it was no big deal that the sun was fading by the seconds, and that I could care less that my poor innocent kitty might be eaten up by the night. 

 and it almost worked.
right up until it didn't. 

 I literally had my hands on him when he charged in the opposite direction, made a quick left, and into the neighbor's slightly opened garage. There I am with  my make-shift toy stick in hand, on my knees, trying to get my cat out of their house (so to speak) - explain that one to the police.   yea, right!   Fortunately they have a dog and the brat cat flew out and back in the direction of our house. Now even I know when to call in my chips and made a quick plea inside the door. "HELP, Ike's MADE A RUN FOR IT." {insert a little considerable reasonable amount of foul language as I hunt for a flashlight which is not  never where it is supposed to be}.   I exited the front only to see something low to the ground fly by in the direction of the neighbor's house, followed by a barefoot teenager. I assumed it was the brat - (and I mean the cat, not my son),  so I lumbered along in that direction, passing the flashlight to my son like a skilled relay runner (in super*slow*motion). After a few three-stooges-like attempts around the tree, the brat cat ran back towards the front door, falling over in a sprawled out position by the  light post. I'm not sure if this was from exhaustion or from laughing so hard at our efforts to catch him at the tree; all I knew was that he was down and it was our best hope of catching him.  And just as my son reached down to pick him up,  like a well-oiled machine, the brat cat sprung to life in the direction of the pine tree.  Much to our surprise, once under the tree he laid down as if to wave the white flag.  I'm guessing our Keystone Cop antics finally got the best of him.  In any event, he was properly taken in and placed under house arrest where he proceeded to moan and groan about the injustice of it all. 

3 days later he still looks longingly at the front door and cries through the night at what I'm guessing he considers his best time out on the town country for as long as he can remember.

All I know is that I'm pricing screen-doors. Maybe even an ankle bracelet for the little cat brat.