I'm such a meanie.
A few weeks ago, Lucy was looking out the living room window to the balcony and meowing so mournfully that I decided to take her out there and let her explore. I've taken her onto the balcony in the past, but she heads straight for my neighbour's flowers like she has just discovered the casino's new breakfast buffet. I've had to explain to Lucy that I had no interest in her becoming my neighbour's new cat-skin rug and, therefore, we had to go back inside.
But! My neighbour was away for a few weeks and winter's a-comin' - those flowers did not have long for this world. So Lucy and I headed out to the balcony and, as anticipated, the first thing she did was make a beeline for the flowers.
That proved unsatisfying after a while, so she started exploring. OF COURSE this meant that she walked through the bars onto the wrong side of the railing, because apparently Lucy's main goal in life is to give me a heart attack. I lured her back through to the safe side of the bars but she would just hop back out again.
Then she decided this particular form of owner torture was boring and she walked out onto my neighbour's very narrow living room window ledge. She sauntered easily enough to the end but then discovered there was nowhere else to go but back.
I don't know if you know this but cats do not back up.
Lucy ended up reaching up, clawing the screen, and somehow pivoting herself around so that she was facing the balcony again. And like any good cat owner, I grabbed my camera.
After I was done snapping photos and giggling, I reached over and rescued her. I could feel her little heart fluttering in her chest as she dug her claws into my shoulder and purred in relief. I felt a teeny bit bad.
"I'm sorry, Lucy," I told her as I scratched her neck. "That was just payback for hiding 800 containers of lip balm somewhere in my apartment." Lucy licked my cheek to let me know she forgave me.