About a month ago I adopted a seriously handicapped cat from a local animal control. While I was at their adoption space, in a small dog grooming facility, I noticed a large black cat who pretty much filled the sides and top of their narrow cages and was literally beating on the glass door to get out - so I adopted him too. There was a second black cat who had been there about 3 months also, so I adopted him as well. I knew I would be able to get the two black cats into the adoption arena of the sanctuary where I volunteer so the only real madness was spending all that money on cats I was going to give up as soon as possible.
The second black cat (Jack the Lad) is highly adoptable and the shelter will take him on August 18. I know the date very well because I repeat it in my head like a mantra every time he does something awful.
The afternoon after their negative FIV/FeLV tests, worming, etc. I let them upstairs where the doors to the back deck were open. (Back deck is two stories up and chicken-wired all around.) I'd worked a six day week and crashed on the daybed waking up at twilight. I checked the cats as I closed the deck doors and realized Jack was missing. I scoured the house - no Jack. I used a flashlight to scan the roof, both at the back and, from the road, the front - no Jack. His second name became The Scarlet Pimpernel.
I didn't sleep much but at 4am I heard a faint meow and he was on the deck. I still don't know if he was hunkered down on the side of the roof when I checked or if he managed to go over the roof, jump down 12' onto the front and then do the reverse to return.
The next day, I went out to feed the stray cats, came in to fill their water bowl and went out again to find a third black cat outside. I hadn't felt or seen him go past me at the door and I wondered again if he'd gone over the roof and down. Third name - Harry Houdini.
The same evening I carried a garbage bag out and saw him sneak through with me. I dropped the bag, lunged at him, my feet skidded on the wet decking and I fell - on my nose mostly since I wasn't letting go of him. Of course, I ignored the blood streaming down my face as I grabbed him fully and got him inside. I looked a right mess and was afraid I'd broken my nose, but I was lucky - except for a swollen bruised nose, bruised cheek and temple, split lip and two bruised knees. When I saw a doctor for a tetanus booster he said he was surprised I hadn't broken my nose and even more surprised I didn't have a black eye. Fourth name - A Right Bloody Pest.
The next night I was woken by the sound of a major crockery smash. He'd jumped on a table right onto a large pasta bowl and a couple of plates, knocked them onto the floor and smashed all. Fifth name - unprintable.
Apart from repeatedly trying to trip me up by winding around my ankles at the worst moments and having to be shut up in the bedroom every time I have the front door or deck door open, he's been okay for the past few days. However, I'm always wondering just what he's going to do to me next.
I'm not used to these normal young cats. Mine are all elderly, sick or disabled.
Has your cat ever almost killed you?
By the way, the second cat is staying. I called him Nevermore and he's wonderful.
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Originally Posted by momoffuzzyfaces
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