He went tearing out the front door tonight, when I opened it without paying enough attention, and I was once again reminded that I intended to not get another cat after Tom and Slinky.
The heartbreak when they die is too darned difficult to get through. And, really, chasing them down when they are run out the door or into the basement is more work and emotional stress than it's worth.
Tam and I managed to corral Huck in the neighbor's front yard and he was back inside in minutes, but my heart was in my throat. Every cat I had as a child was eventually run over; Mother was (understandably) adamant about not having a litter box in the house and all cats were indoor/outdoor pets.
I'll change my mind by the morning and think I was being utterly beastly but tonight, I really wonder if it wouldn't be smarter (or at least easier on me) to just take him to the Humane Society.
Sometimes it's just too much. I'm grateful I don't have any children.
He Worked On A Starship
2 months ago