It's Their Nature

When I came in the house this evening Achilles, who really should stay in after dark, went out before I could stop him. Thus I felt responsible for getting him back in, but I knew there was no point in trying until he'd been out for a couple of hours. Starting an hour or so ago I stood out there whistling and calling him for five to ten minutes at a stretch, at frequent intervals (roughly between innings). I neither saw nor heard any sign of him — just the echoes of my calls bouncing off my neighbors' houses and the coyotes whooping it up on the nearby conservation land.

By the time the game ended I had worked myself into what my grandmother would have called a state, so Grant sympathetically went downstairs to give it a try, opened the door, and let the waiting cat in.


Cats and husbands: can't live with 'em, can't shoot 'em.

Also, baseball is an incredibly stupid game.