Earlier today, Simon and I drove home from Christmas at my parents' in Toledo. A two-hour drive turned into a four-hour drive thanks to slippery roads and lots of car accidents (other people's accidents, not ours). At one point, we could only go 25 miles an hour.
When we got to the apartment, we had tons of stuff to unload - plus my cats. I was carrying them upstairs to my apartment when the weight shifted in the carrier, the door flew open and the cats were loose.
Of course, I freaked out, remembering the last time a pet escaped. (My dog Sparky who was hit by a car when I was five.) I dropped my purse and another bag I was carrying. It was snowing hard and super cold. My cats have never been outside before. This did not seem to be a good thing.
Luckily, Daphne didn't get very far so I was able to grab her right away. Zoe is apparently speedy even though she's portly. She took off toward the woods, her stomach flapping in the wind.
She wedged herself under a hedge and started yowling a horrid, deep 'Bea Arthur' meow. Apparently, she didn't like her taste of freedom. I ran upstairs, put Daphne down and grabbed some treats, positive that food would unwedge Zoe from the bushes. It was a no go. I had to crawl on the wet snowy ground and drag her out from under the bushes.
When we got back to my apartment, she hid under the bed for an hour. I was shaking and ended up downing the worst beer ever (Michelob Ultra Pomegranate Raspberry.)
Luckily, we all seem to have survived our traumatic moment.