Azrael Goes AWOL

Each morning as I prepare for work Azrael, my smallest and neediest feline, follows closely at my heels. He lounges in the bedroom while I get dressed. He frolics in the bathtub while I do my hair and makeup. He zig zags back and forth across the living room as I collect my belongings. His final act before I leave is to stretch his long kitty body across the floor directly in front of the door. I like to believe this is his last desperate attempt at getting me to stay home and play with him all day. Much to his dismay, I simply step over him and go merrily on my way, blowing kisses and assuring him that I will be home soon.

This morning, instead of flinging himself in front of the door for me to step over, Azrael chose to abandon desperate and attempt nonchalant.

As I was exiting my apartment laden with laptop, purse, keys and sunglasses, Azrael trotted out the front door right next to me like it was something he did every day. I looked down toward my right shin to confirm that, yes, my indoor cat was now chilling in the hallway of my open air apartment complex merely three flights away from the parking lot, neighborhood dogs and certain death. Then I freaked out.

I re-opened the front door and hurled all of my belongings inside almost hitting Hades, the good cat, who was craning his neck to see what was going on and looking at me as if to ask, "Is he finally leaving? Are you finally kicking him out?"

I returned to the hallway to retrieve my fugitive only to find that Azrael had yet to bolt for either of the stairways. But having witnessed my freak out I could tell that his freak out was imminent.

The second I made a move in his direction he ran to the other end of the hallway and started yowling at the top of his lungs as though I had starved him for days, banished him from his home and forced him to beg for shelter.I had never heard such a sound. It wrenched at my heart and terrified me at the same time. I began to shush him and murmur words of comfort, all the while sneaking toward him. Azrael stopped mid-yowl and evaluated what I was attempting. He wasn't happy with it. He took off again.

Before he could reach the top of the concrete stairwell I dove like a linebacker and tackled the 10-pound frightened ball of claws. He struggled against me as I straightened and carried him back inside our apartment, desperately hoping that none of my neighbors had witnessed the embarrassing episode.

I let Azrael loose in the living room and sank to the floor, bleeding from knuckles and knees and barely controlling the sobs that caught in my throat. My furry deserter simply sauntered over to Hades, who was now looking extremely disappointed that his nemesis had returned, head-butted him and then proceeded to do the same to me.

I shook with a combination of fear, adrenaline and laughter. After a few minutes of catching my breath, slowing my heart rate, and watching Azrael furiously lick his paws (yucky outside dirt), I re-collected my belongings and carefully exited the front door still not sure whether I wanted to laugh or cry.

To all of those parents who scoff at pet owners who compare the antics of their pets to the antics of toddlers, I propose a challenge: You let your toddler loose in a playground and I'll let Azrael loose at the same time.

Bet I catch your kid long before you catch my cat.