Short Scare

Our screen door doesn't close properly, but I've been leaving the glass door open for ventilation in hopes to speed the dissipation of the paint fumes. The apartment looks great, but it stinks to high heaven.

Unfortunately, I underestimated the intelligence of my cat. He managed to open the screen door and when I came down to investigate the source of the scraping noise, both cats were missing and the door was open a whole 2 inches.

Sh*t.

I threw on my shoes and ran out the door after them. Malika was sitting in the grass 2mm from the door looking at me. Thank heavens she's afraid of the outdoors. I tossed her back in the house, firmly closing the glass door, and proceeded to hunt for Rumble. I walked around the building, scaling fences to do so, calling him and purring (to which he normally comes), all to no avail. I searched in and among the garbage bins and the trees at the front of the lot.

"Here buddy...here Rumble...here you freaking stupid cat..."

I searched up and down the block, calling and purring, not caring if I looked like an idiot to the people sitting on their decks - I was on a mission.

Finally I gave up, came home, and made a frantic phone call home. It went something like this:
"Rumble got out and I can't find him and I live on a busy street and I don't know what to dooooooooooo, sob."

I hung up. There was a noise outside. I look up. He's sitting on the other side of the glass door, looking in. For Pete's sake.