Of Kitty Cats and Cliffs and Wild Adventures
So when I was barely a year old I nearly died. Left alone and forgotten in the frenzy of a tour group for less than a minute in order to capture a Kodak moment in front of a volcano and there I am, swinging my chubby, pale baby leg over the edge of the fence. Zero depth perception. Onward! I never was one for American tourism. Especially as a 13 month old in Hawaii. Sorry mom and dad. You almost lost me to the Hawaiian volcano gods.
Back when Alex and I lived in our apartment many moons ago, our windows had these gigantic ledges where Baci could perfectly rest his (skinnier back then) body for the evening. Everyone was happy. Because a happy Baci on a windowsill meant happy humans with room to move on the bed.
And then Baci fell out of the window. Our 4th story window. We didn’t even know it. It was a gorgeous, perfect October evening. No reason for the AC and not cold enough to need the heat. Misha was talkative the next morning as we ran through our getting-ready routines. It wasn’t until that evening that we realized (Alex realized, I’ll give him credit where credit is due) that the screen in one of our windows was broken. And Misha was still talkative. And the cat food hadn’t been touched. Uh oh.
You’ll be glad to know the story has a happy ending. Baci’s Day Out came to a close with him hiding under a tree near our building, Alex holding a flashlight, and Misha finally shutting up. But now he only has 8 lives.
So I’m reminded, as it turns into window-opening season that Sir Bac-a-Lot doesn’t really fit in our new windowsills. They are skinnier and he is much, much fatter. I get the feeling that he learned a thing or two about depth perception after his legendary fall. He stays rather far away from the windowsills upstairs these days.
He was just a kitten back then. Out looking for an adventure. From what we can piece together, his day out consisted of taking Slim Jim from a stranger, a walk up to West Street (a rather busy road leading into downtown Annapolis), a few encounters with yappy, spoiled apartment dwelling dogs, and a game or two of chase-the-rabbits.
If one of us was going to follow through with our adventure to the other side of the cliff, I’m glad it was Baci. Because, otherwise, I’m not sure I’d be here to tell you this. So onward we go, my friends. Just stay clear of the cliffs unless you are of the feline variety.
