Just reading in Laurie's blog about Scrapper, a feral rescue she's fostering.
Scrapper escaped from his cage last night, because he is just that clever.
It made me think about my old cat, Boycat.
(Boycat Safeway, because they were selling non-union table grapes, which dates the story.)
I had to take Boycat to the vet for the first time, and lacking a car, I took him to the one just around the corner from where I lived.
At that point all I had was one of those cardboard cat carriers.
I'd used it for him when I moved, and it worked fine.
But when I got him to the vet's and was opening the front door, Boycat decided that enough was enough.
He stuck his nose out one of the round ventilation holes in the side of the box.
Then he just walked through the side of the box, splitting cardboard as he went.
Like the parting of the Red Sea.
Then he was through the office, out the back window and over the back fence of the patio in a blink.
The poor receptionist was utterly frantic, until I explained that he only had two back yards to go through to get home.
Then I went home and fetched him back again, wrapped in a towel.
She put us right into an examination room, and the poor boy stood there, rigid with fear the whole time.
He didn't even notice when they gave him his shots.
I think he was expecting to have a leg removed or something.
My other great escape cat was Orlando.
Orlando was my kitty in grad school, and when I had Sair.
He was asleep on my belly when they called about the amniocentesis results (and woke me from a nasty anxiety dream in which I was getting the amnio results and they were inconclusive…).
When Sair was about four months old we moved from the Bay Area to LA (ick).
For some reason I ended up driving the van with the baby and all the cats in carriers.
Since we only had three good carriers, and had four cats, we used a cardboard carrier.
Orlando was in it.
It took him about ten minutes to figure out that if, instead of pushing against the top, so that the notches on the handle engaged and held, he pulled in inside, then it unhooked at the top and he was free.
Of course, we ended up leaving about 10pm.
Mostly Sair was trying to sleep, but Zelda cat was practicing kitty opera the whole time, and Orlando was clawing at his carrier, so she was tired and restless.
And I kept having to pull over and put Orlando back in the carrier, and try to wedge the top shut somehow, and then ten minutes later he'd be out again.
So finally I just gave up.
(Now it occurs to me that I should have just put Orlando into one of the functional carriers, and a less scientifically-minded kitty into the cardboard one.
But at that point I hadn't slept all night since August, and it was January.)
I just said, Cat, keep out from underfoot.
So Orlando took one good look around the back of the van, checking that the other kitties were all there and okay.
Then he curled up on top of Sair's feet in the back seat and she promptly conked out for the duration.'
He was just that kind of cat.