Y'all have met the cat, Sam. I love this little ball of fluff despite his curmudgeonly attitude. He on the other hand gives me nothing but grief. In either March or April (I forget cause it is super duper early and I have not had the proper amount of caffeine yet), he got out of the house and was gone for 2 weeks. I was sick with worry because he does not have front claws, and he has never spent a night outside in his life. We were also living in Missouri at the time and there were tons of other cats and raccoons and such to make his stay outside quite unpleasant. He finally wandered home after his two week safari into the wild covered with ticks and extremely underweight. Since then we have been really vigilant to not let him out of the house and to catch him if he does try to make a run for freedom.
This morning, about 6-ish I got a lovely wake up call. "Kat, Sam got out and I can't find him!" Greeeeat. Thank goodness I went to sleep with track pants on last night... I stumbled out of the bed, got my coat and grabbed the mag-lite from "The Man". Now, this may seem crazy, but we live on a quiet cul-de-sac, but once you get off the cul-de-sac towards the front of my house, there is a busy road. To the back of my house, there is another REALLY busy road, oh and my husband could throw a (American) football and hit the flightline of the Air Force Base we live near (which is a whole other post). Needless to say, it is kind of a priority to find the cat before he gets to far away so he doesn't get squished.
I finally found him after I had checked under all the cars in the cul-de-sac. He had run into the backyard and was stalking around in one of the flowerbeds. I grabbed him and took him inside, while I was also giving him a lecture about the dangers of going outside. Ya know, cause he can so understand me.
I tried to go back to sleep, but that didn't work. So here I am, writing a blog and watching Tom and Jerry. Man, I love that cat.