Yesterday I left the garage door open for an hour or two. As I was backing the Family Truckster out of its stall I noticed a couple of paw prints on the windshield. That’s nothing new in this cat-infested house and I paid it little mind. I continued backing out of the garage and hit the remote to close the door. By chance I looked back at the door, just in time to see a little black body with white feet struggling to hang on to the top of of the door. The trouble was that by hanging on top of the door, she was inches away from getting cut in half.
I hit that remote as fast as I could and the door responded, rolling back up. I stopped the Truckster and ran back into the garage. There couldn’t have been more than an inch of clearance between the door and the frame. I saw Amy moving from the garage door to the rafters and onto some siding resting on the rafters. I breathed a sigh of relief.
Once we got her back into the house, she appeared to be none the worse. Well at least not physically worse. The poor thing spent the entire evening curled up on the couch, not leaving the safety of the living room for anything. Who could blame her. But now it’s another day and she’s back outside, enjoying the summer heat and blissful again. She’s down to eight lives and quite oblivious. Here’s to hoping her luck continues.