The trouble with fences
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Domestic cats, in general, have it made. Almost everything they could desire is provided for them. The humans who look after them—because nobody ever really owns a cat—are only too happy to pamper their feline companions. In return, the cats themselves are happy to treat their humans to a liberal dose of indifference, perhaps with the odd sprinkling of affection when it suits them. But sometimes things go wrong. And sometimes those same cats realise their owner may be more valuable than they thought after all.
We've had our cat since September of last year. We called him Steve. He was approximately four months old when we got him, so he's now approaching his first birthday. Until recently he's been a house cat. It's never been our intention to keep him indoors long term. While he was still young and boisterous, it made sense, and as he'd never known any different, he didn't seem to mind.
Steve's first forays into the outside world were brief and uneventful. He'd go out, feeling brave, then get nervous and come back in. As his confidence grew, he'd venture further into the garden. Our garden is just grass with high fences all the way around. Steve likes to sit on the grass. Sometimes he'd chase flies. Sometimes he'd stare at the sky. Mostly he just sits.
When he wants to come in, Steve tends to climb onto the bins by our back door and stare at us through the window. The bins are also near one of the fences. Cats are curious. It's in their nature. A high fence might be off-putting by itself, but when the top of one is brought within range, curiosity makes it all too tempting to have a look. So it was that, last night, Steve's curiosity guided him from the bins and onto said fence.
Having seen another cat stroll with an elegant swagger along the top of the fences before, Steve was keen to try his luck. I'd always assumed cats were naturally graceful when it came to things like this. Steve provided all the evidence I needed that it is, in fact, an acquired skill. In his defence, he didn't fall off, but I have no idea how. He put me in mind of a drunk, amateur tightrope walker on a windy day, but he stayed up there nonetheless and even stopped halfway to admire the view.
At this point curiosity took over again. Having conquered our garden, he decided to investigate the one next door. The journey and primary mission seemed to go well. I saw him jump, heard him land and didn't hear much else for some time afterwards. The problems began with return journey. There wasn't one. The bins on our side that provided his shortcut to the top of the fence were not so conveniently located on the other side. Our first clue that things were amiss came in the form of a scrabbling noise and a few pathetic meows.
I know he's capable of jumping high enough to get back over the fence. I've even seen him do it once before. But that was during the day. Yesterday evening it was dark and cold. I think that hit is confidence. After a few more attempts, he resorted to the pathetic meows. Calling to him didn't work. Rattling his favourite toys didn't work. Moving his food trays in such a way that would normally bring him running at full pelt from anywhere in the house didn't work. An hour later, I'd run out of options.
At eight o'clock last night I stood, very embarrassed, on my neighbours' doorstep and asked, very apologetically, if we could have our cat back please. Thankfully they're very nice and were very understanding. I found Steve huddling under a tree at the far end of their garden, trembling in the dark. He seemed pleased to see me. At home, once he got over his own embarrassment, he wouldn't leave me alone for the rest of the evening. I'd love to say he's learnt his lesson. In truth, however, I suspect my neighbours will meet him again. And even when things go wrong, he'll still get his way.