We had an interesting experience with our kitties last week. Our two cats, Lily and Sophie, are indoor cats. They have been since we plucked them from precarious situations and brought them to live with us. While they love to spend time gazing out a window, they’ve never tried to escape. It seems they have no desire to return to the big wide world. And this fact was tested last week.
I came home from taking care of business and found our sliding glass door into the backyard standing wide open. (Dennis was home with the cats.) First thing I did was look for the kitties. There they were in the living room, just chilling. I questioned Dennis, who was oblivious to the breach—and I learned that my four-year-old twin great grands had visited with their mom. When littles are around and you have indoor cats, you constantly check doors, right? Well, Dennis evidently didn’t think of that and the door had been open
for at least half-hour, yet our kitty-babies were still inside. Whew!!!!
Now the question is, did they see the door open and choose to ignore it or did they actually take a jaunt around the yard while they had the opportunity. The cats are not telling.
I have had indoor kitties escape—it happened with my beautiful Himalayan, Katy, twice. In fact both times she actually spent the night outside and both times we’d just moved into a new place. The first time she pushed a 
screen out overnight and I’m pretty sure it was an accident. Once the screen gave way, she might have leaped out the window, but I think she fell. I found her crying at the front door when I got up the next morning. My poor baby!!!!
The second time she escaped during a move and went under the house. It was getting dark and we couldn’t get her to come out from under there, so we closed up the crawl hole and left her without food, thinking she’d come out in the morning, which she did. She was never as enamored by the out of doors again.
However, as Katy grew elderly—into her teens, she was much more settled and she dearly wanted to join me when I was in the garden. So I began giving her supervised outdoor time. All she wanted was to loll in a dirt patch feeling the sun on her fur. We buried her in that spot when she died at the age of 17. Miss you, Miss Katy, love.
