Wanderlust

My human kept me as a strictly indoor cat. I didn't complain, but hey, a cat's wanderlust never quite goes away, right?

From hanging out daily in the balcony, I saw what the world outside - the world beyond the balcony - looked like: There was a swimming pool to my 2 o'clock, a garden beyond that, and a Very Interesting Neighbourhood of landed properties to my 9 o'clock beyond the fence ringing in the small condo that was my home.

But dang, she was always careful to keep the front door shut, so there was little chance of my walking out the front door.

The apartment was only on the first floor though, and the balcony always looked safe enough for me to jump. [That's me in the picture, doing one of my "shall-I-jump" stocktakes]. For a long time, I never did - not even when she stood just below the balcony once, holding out a chicken wing from their garden barbeque and calling my name. [Her friends always asked though: "Doesn't he ever jump off the balcony?"]

Maybe I had come to regard their home as my territory, and it was enough turf.

Maybe I was just a wuss...

But one day, wanderlust got the better of me and I leaped off the balcony. I landed on my feet, no problem, nothing broken.

I Was Free!

I first explored the basement carpark of the condo. Nothing much interesting there. It was a week day and most of the residents' cars were out. The half-dried out oil stains on some of the lots smelled disgusting, it went all the way to the back of my nose and then some.

I next slunk my way across the garden, across the service road and leapt up the chain-link fence on the boundaries of the condo. I was outside it! It was amazing how big the world was.

I was in the Very Interesting Neighbourhood. The houses there were bigger, all with gardens and fancy front gates. Strange smells assaulted my nose, including dog pee, other cats' pee - I made a mental note to be careful - as well as cooking smells coming out of kitchens.

What if I came across other cats? I was on their territory. Should I hang my head and acknowledge their supremacy, let them know I was just passing through? Or should I put up a fight as only a big boy like me can - a [ahem!] muscular mass of flying white fur, flailing claws?

I went for Option A. I had no other choice, really. Outside one of the houses, I had come upon at least seven cats [including adolescents and kittens]. They were all strays, four younger ones, a couple of females and a male. [I was the bigger boy.]

After some opening snarls and raised hackles, we sat about 2 metres apart, seemingly at detente, till they figured I wasn't going to play hero.

I went no closer but a civil conversation ensued, nevertheless.

They said they hung out there because food came every day courtesy of the nice family from the corner house. There was enough food to go around, and fresh water too.

They seemed a happy lot, a pecking order among them was in place.

So I asked them: "Don't your humans ever let you into their house? Mine keeps me in there!"

They looked at me like I was loopy.

Sam, the black-and white male who appointed himself the spokescat, spat and said imperiously: "Why would we want to go in there when we can be free? Take me, I'm free to roam anywhere I please. I can just 'take' any of these ladies here any time too. Look at the brood they gave me!"

Um, er. I had little idea what he meant by "taking ladies" and how that connected to the young ones, but I wasn't going to show I had a "critical information gap". Gotta find this out, somehow.

"Well," I replied, adding: "Do you have a bed that's dry and warm, especially for colder nights? What if you fall sick or are run over by a car? And how do you know your little ones will have enough to eat when you go? What if this human family moves away?"

Sam narrowed his eyes to slits and arched his neck towards me. He hissed: "I don't live for the 'what ifs', you dumb clod. I just live. If I go, I go. If you keep assessing risks, the what-could-have-beens, you miss what's under your nose. C'est la vie, you pansy."

Hmm. I was sure there was a deep thought about life here ... like: So, he didn't consider the "what ifs". But then, neither did I.

But my case was different, vastly different. I didn't have to dwell on the "what ifs" because food, safety, territory, a place to sleep, medicines when I got ill ... they all came to me because my human ensured that. I never needed to wonder.

Maybe, I thought, I should appreciate what I had more. Mine seemed an easier life by far.

I explored the rest of the neighbourhood and didn't stop to talk to anyone thereafter. The assault on my sense of sight, hearing, smell and touch was enough to deal with. I ducked under cars parked on the roadside whenever I saw humans approach, and also when cars whizzed by.

I stayed out all night. I wanted to see the place by night, when I was in my element. I stayed under one car for half an hour as the light faded. It had just been driven and there was a nice warmth coming from the engine as the human slammed its door, strode across the street and entered his "gate house". [Hmm. I wondered why my human didn't live in such a double-storeyed monstrosity. I wonder what he did for a living, this fella.]

Under another car later that evening, I saw other denizens of the night come out. Roaches, for one! I swatted one and its wings flapped. I played with it between my paws and then let it go when it was 74.26% dead.

I felt a bit hungry and wondered whether the roach would be crunchy. If one were to believe that half-crazed, opinionated celebrity cook Anthony Bourdain, who travels to God-forsaken Third World nations to try out their food, bugs are crunchy. I'll take his word for it.

I thought about going back home soon for some kibble.

I slept for a bit under the car, but kept an ear cocked all night. The experience was too weird for me to allow myself a full-on slumber. Nothing like my basket back home with its coloured cushion, all infused with Eau de Nookie...

At around 4am, I made tracks for home. Then a problem hit me: How was I to get back in? The balcony looked a tad too high for me to jump back in. Gravity helped me get down earlier, but now...

And it wasn't just a matter of jumping that high up - a lot of precision would be required to land exactly between the vertical railings too.

I decided to go home by the front door. I had no problems figuring out which one it was. I made it up two flights of steps and there was The Door. I had always been on its other side, wondering if I could ever get out for a walk. Now I was wondering how to get in.

I meowed once, loudly. Everything inside was still. I guess they were asleep. I looked up at the door and the crucifix on it and the dried-out palm above that.

"Jesus-Mary-Joseph, please come open the door," I willed silently. Nothing happened. Maybe I wasn't praying right. I lay down and tucked my front paws under my chest, and figured a long wait was in the offing.

Early morning saw the block's earlier risers clatter down the stairs on the way to work or to school. I had to duck somewhere to hide each time these people went by my human's door:

There was Justin, the noisiest kid in the neighbourhood from upstairs, going to pre-school, and his executive dad Robert in his pressed, long-sleeved pastel shirt and tie. There was also the young fella from the fourth floor - was it Joshua or Moses or some sorta Biblical name - and the Chinese couple from the apartment just across from my human's.

At around 8:30am, my human's door opened! She had come out to get her newspaper. [Sheesh, she works all day in a newspaper office and still has to read this smelly, inky thing first thing every morning? I just don't get it.]

I sat up immediately and meowed. She looked at me, smiled broadly and went: "Nookie! You are back!"

To her husband, who was somewhere in the flat, she called: "Hey, the cat has come home!!" I swear I heard the man go: "Oh damn, oh fuck."

I padded in, lay down at the foot of the dining table while she patted me, and looked me over.

"He seems fine, just a little bit dirty, but he's fine," she said to the man, relief flooding her voice.

"Damn," I heard him mutter again.

I was home.