Last night, I achieved the ultimate in feline freedom. After years of being forced to stay in at night, deprived of the opportunity to defend my territory, constrained to hiss and yowl at intruders through the tiny window of my cat door . . . my cat door is no more.
Yep, that's right. One cat-fight-through-the-door too many, and the thing is broken. Wrenched off its hinges. Shattered in two. Leaving a beautiful hole in the main door through which I may come and go to my heart's content.
And my heart says that I should go outside during the night as often as I wish. That'll teach that pesky ginger cat intruder (Zim Zam)!
You should have seen Ellen's face this morning when she saw the debris. Perplexity. Resignation. And even mortification, as she realised that the cat fight she heard last night might actually have been me, when she thought I was snug and secure inside. Ha! That'll teach her.