I think I have a troubled teen on my hands. My resident problem child stays out all night, brings home completely unsuitable friends, seems to be experiencing mood swings, is on occasion defiant, and has once run away from home for several days. Thank heavens it's the cat, and not one of my sons. Since Fluffy's recent experience being AWOL, she seems to have entered a wild stage.
She's been out all night and returned with a nick in her ear, but otherwise unscathed.
On Monday I learned a new thing about cat behavior, they can meow (loudly) with their mouths full. After I absently-mindedly opened the door to her plaint, I discovered belatedly she had a friend with her (I know, I learn slowly!). A live friend. I suggest firmly that she and her friend go back outside. No. I chase her and her wriggling captive into the living room. The chipmunk valiantly grabs onto the area rug and earns its freedom. God is good, no? Certainly from the chipmunk's point of view. Me? I'm having visions of a family of chipmunks living in the kids' closet. Fluffy and I both make haste to capture the critter. Grabbing a trashcan as I go, I win. Now I have a very anxious chipmunk trapped against the wall, Fluffy batting at my ankles and no lid within easy reach. The trio moves down the hallway, I put my foot against the trashcan and reach into the hall supply closet. Voila! A manila envelope to top off my trap. I slide it in, tip the contraption upright and we're well on our way to a chipmunk free house.
Right now, Fluffy is sweetly sleeping next to me, on silk pillow, looking for all the world like a pampered pet. Just don't cross her...