It was raining out last Saturday, so I had the door open for some air, and because I like the sound of the rain. I was AIMing with a couple of people when suddenly I heard the screen door get yanked off its latch. I jumped up and yelled, “Jack!” as I ran to the door, because unless it’s a home invasion (unlikely in a couryard-apartment complex in the middle of a Saturday morning), it had to be Jack. And sure enough, he had run out when he saw the stray, the same stray that he has little glass-separated battles with at the window every morning. Only this time, instead of stopping outside the door wondering where the fuck he was, he kept after the cat! He ran after her into the courtyard, where the stray made a sharp left through the other gate and around the pool towards the far stairs, with Jack in hot pursuit, and me shouting his name as I ran after them.
It occurs to me now that it’s a good thing Jack didn’t know that the flat turquoise stuff was water, because he probably would’ve ended up in the street chasing that damned cat if he hadn’t tried to short-cut across the pool. Fortunately, he can’t run across water, but he sure can make a splash! The surprised look on his face has he came up for air from the deep end of the pool was, frankly, hilarious, even in my panicked omigod-he’s-going-to-drown state of mind. I was just about to jump in after him when he started swimming for the side. Whew! I met him as he was pulling himself out, picked up his soaking body as I tried not to laugh, and carried him as far away from my own sorta dry body as I could, straight into the bathroom, where I proceeded to towel off the excess water.
He’s been particularly needy since then, jumping into my lap when I’m at my desk and demanding to be petted. Sadly, there’s no way to know if he’s learned a lesson from the ordeal, so until I can rig something to keep that screen door from popping open, I have to keep the door closed. I’ve been feeling claustrophobic ever since.