Up a tree
When I left off last week, I had narrowly escaped being murdered in the night by a crazed lunatic while shoeless in my neighbor’s woods searching for my cat Simon. It may have really happened that way, or it may have been the product of my overactive imagination. The jury is still out.
At any rate, I had discovered Simon was about 20 feet up a tree and seemed disinclined to come down. I assumed he would come down when he got hungry, but on the second day, I decided to try to climb up to get him.
Because there were no low-hanging branches on this tree, I enlisted my son’s help to carry a stepladder into the woods. We stood the ladder at the base of the tree and I climbed what turned out to be the most rickety set of steps imaginable. From there, I stepped onto the lowermost branch of the tree beside the one in which my cat was stuck.
I outstretched my hand but was still several feet shy of reaching Simon. He paced on his limb and meowed as if to tell me I was almost, but not quite, there. I pictured my son having to call the fire department to rescue both of us from trees, so I climbed down and left him again.
That night, I spent some time researching how to get cats out of trees. One notable fact I found is, contrary to popular opinion, most cats cannot climb back down a tree. Their claws are not designed for descent. In addition, cats cannot survive more than three days without water, and Simon had been stuck for two. I knew I had no choice but to get him down the next morning.
When I awoke at sunup, I gathered my supplies. I had decided to take a long board up and lean it in the tree to act as a ramp for Simon to walk down. As I dragged the 15-foot 1-by-6 and the ladder up to the woods, it began to pour down rain. Cold and miserable, I still felt grateful God had provided Simon with some water in case I couldn’t get him out of the tree.
When I got into the woods, I discovered maneuvering the board into the tree would be tricky due to the denseness of the trees and the length of the board. Still, I managed to get the board onto a branch at an angle that would be suitable for Simon to walk down. Unfortunately, it was two feet below Simon’s branch. Attempting to move the board up to his branch was like lifting wet spaghetti. Plus, it had a groove down the center, and it was funneling buckets of water directly into the armhole of my shirt. Water blocked my eyes, and I kept blinking to try to clear them.
The next thing I knew, I heard another meow, and peered up in time to see I had knocked Simon off his perch with the board and he was dangling from some leaves by one paw. I had no other choice but to give him another nudge and hold my breath as he fell to the ground. My son, who had heard me leave the house and followed me to offer assistance, scooped him up and immediately headed for home. I dragged home our supplies and checked Simon over. Other than being very hungry and a bit shaken up, he was fine.
I don’t, however, think he’ll be climbing trees anymore, and that is just fine by me.