They'll be the death of me yet...

I'm babysitting cats again.

Not the same ones; no psycho killer cat this time. Just two lovely cats barely out of adolescence. Adorable. Sweet.

Breakneck.

As indoor cats, and they seem endlessly fascinated by the outdoors (i.e. our third floor balcony). So much so that they managed to get through the screen of the patio door the other day.

I blocked their access to the screen and left the door open, after all it's Montreal in the summer. What harm could there be in letting some air in?

Last night as Mr. Jazz and I were watching a DVD, he turns and says, "Is she outside?"

Yep. Sure enough, there was Gala perched on the window ledge outside my living room window. Said window ledge is three inches wide and three stories up. She had managed to squeeze in between the screen and the block and decided a good place to paly would be on the window sill.

Now, any cat worth its salt can deal with a three inch window ledge three stories up any day.

But there she was... chasing the moths that were attracted by the light in the window. Jumping. Up and down. On the three inch ledge.

My heart? It stopped.

I don't care that she probably still has all her nine lives intact, the thought that went instantly roaring through my head? How do I explain to a 7 year old girl that her adored cat fell to its demise and splattered itself three floors down on my watch?

A colleague said, "well, it would teach her that life's a bitch". That's cynical even by my extremely loose standards.

I opened the window screen sloooooooooooowly and coaxed her in. And she looked at me and I swear she smiled an evil little pussycat smile, she did. She was most definitely laughing at me. Indeed she was.

I should have wrung her cute little neck - but that would have been even harder to explain to the kid than a three storey fall.

.