We've been slowly introducing the new cats to the idea of going outside. We do this by not feeding them first thing in the morning, then opening the back door and letting them roam around in the garden for 10 minutes before calling them back in for food.
This morning, however, neither of the bitches gave a flying fuck about eating and eschewed my best attempts at luring them back in. They were straight through the garden, onto the decking, up the tree, over the high fence and away to explore. I can't help thinking they've been planning this. It's essentially the feline version of The Great Escape. Which makes me a Nazi guard. Not a sentence I ever thought I'd write.
The Missus was in bed while this was going on and I dreaded delivering the news, 'I may have lost the cats...' Both briefly ventured back into the garden, then a slightly fraught hour later one came back for food, closely followed by the other.
I locked the back door and vowed it was never happening again. Or at least not until the following morning when we would try to teach them how to use a cat flap.
I remember the first time we let the Boy walk to school on his own when he was about 11. That was nerve-wracking and the school was only at the top of the road. We also left the house 20 seconds later and followed him to make sure he was safe.
We can't do that with cats as it would involve clambering over fences and going through other people's gardens. Having a child was much easier.
