I recently survived a late mid-life crisis, which I did not know could happen to cats, especially me. The feline variety of said crisis did not involve dating younger kitties or shedding a sexy new coat of fur, but began instead with an open door.

My middle-aged shenanigans commenced Friday morning when an unobservant, elderly woman held the door open more than long enough to allow me to slip outside. I knew my absence would not be discovered for several hours as the humans know my inclination to nap under the furniture, out-of-sight. I had not planned any further than that, than to get outside unseen; and so after rolling in and eating the grass, I had no better idea than to venture under the front porch.

Meanwhile, the humans realized I had absconded. I could hear them calling for me and searching for me, but I did not feel my adventure should yet come to an end. I felt it compulsory to roll in the dirt and the mud and to then nap the day away.

I awoke when the last ray of daylight bleeding through the cracks in the porch had faded, and I could hear my human mom crying and hoping I was not scared and lost and cold. She didn’t think I was coming back home, and that she would never see me again. I felt very bad, and I knew my adventure was ended.

So I came out from under the porch and perched on a post outside my human mom’s window. I did not know how to get inside, but wanted to let the humans know I was there and wanted in. Fortunately, (and this is the only positive thing about the young ones), Isis came to the window, spotted me, and began meowing and pawing and creating such a scene that my human mom also came to the window. I saw her face when she saw me. Relief and happiness replaced tears and uncertainty.

My only punishment was a bath, which I accepted gracefully without protest. And now begins my life of carefully closed doors.