I had quite the harrowing weekend. I will just fast forward to the harrowingest bit: I came home around 1:30 am Saturday night (really, Sunday morning) to find the apartment freezing cold. When I had left the house at noon, the day had been gorgeous - so I left the windows open and headed out.
I ran around closing the windows, not even noticing that I hadn't been greeted at the door by my furry, feline friend. I didn't notice until I got to the sliding door to the balcony. Which was open about 6 inches. Oh shit. Oh shit, indeed.
I spent a long time standing in front of the door, looking at the yawning gap and trying to simultaneously not freak out and figure out the best course of action. Usually, I'm all about the "next steps", but the only thing I could think to do was go to bed and hope that she would come home on her own. I didn't even know how long she had been gone. I left the door ajar as it was and went to bed.
Lying there, half heartbroken, I tried to tell myself that even if she didn't come back, that maybe somehow it would be a good thing. It would be easier to get an apartment, for example. Just thinking that cued a slideshow of her cutest, sweetest moments. I've had her in my life for six years now. Then, I thought about all of the awful things that could happen: the outdoor cats I had seen not 1/2 a block away, dogs, traffic, eating something poisonous, simply not being able to find her way home.
I am a light sleeper generally, but the little yip I thought I heard at 4:15 am was infinitesimally small. A squeak, even. Hearing it, though, I thought why not check. I opened the bedroom door and there she was padding through the living room, coming up to me to weave around my ankles. She was cold, cold, cold but none the worse for her little "adventure."
I'm not sure I can say the same for myself.