Once you’ve had a cat, you know that they intend to roam freely. No gate shall hold them in or out, and your job is to man the gate for their free passage. My first cat, was a stray or so I thought. I came to realize she had many homes or way stops that fed and cared for her. But mostly she was mine. She would sit at my patio door and stare at me until I let her in my apartment. She was an orange tabby. Originally, I thought she was a he so I named her Boris. She liked tennis star Boris Becker when we watched Wimbledon together. She kind of looked like him with the orange tousled hair and when he dabbed the zinc oxide on his nose, they were mirror twins.
Well, you know the story. I’d let her in. She’d eat and use the facilities. Sometimes watch a little tennis, sit on the chair and stare at me, or play with her toys. Once bored, she’d run to the door and stare outside. Every once in awhile, she’d look back at me and meow, so forlorn. I’d let her out.
Every cat does it. They want out. Then, in. Close the bathroom door, a paw slides under. “What are you doing, why did you leave me, let me in. they meow.”
Put them in the crate to go to the vet. “Let me ooooouuuttt!” is all you hear as you drive the seemingly 100 miles to the clinic. Then, once their rump hits that cold exam table, Let me innnnn! Let me innnnn! Let me innnnn!
So, who knows? Whe it comes to gates, are they there to let us out or let us in? I’m not sure but we have constructed some massive ones over the years. As long as they can swing open, they are okay.
My Second Act, Scene One 