The Adventures of Taro: Taro and the Great Outdoors

When Taro is inside the house, he is generally a fairly well-behaved little bugger. He doesn't claw his people, he doesn't rip the furniture to shreds, he doesn't jump on the kitchen counter, and he doesn't poop in your shoes (usually, unless you've done something to REALLY annoy him). But somehow, once he gets outside, that all changes.

Well, at least it USED to change. He doesn't go out much, anymore. (You'll understand soon enough, I promise.)

Now, we never allowed Taro to wander the "great outdoors" (otherwise known as the fenced backyard) unsupervised. Sadly, we lost our previous four-furred-feets floofy-butt that way, and we were not going to ever take that chance again. So, we would always be out there with him in the yard, keeping him out of trouble, and keeping a wary eye on him at all times.

And we needed to - because he sure could get himself into trouble out there!

He tried to climb the grapefruit tree. He got about 4 feet high before my brother went and pulled him down. The brother got hissed at for it, but we figured it was better then clumsy-butt getting any higher and then realizing he didn't know how to get down.

Then he tried to get under the deck. That didn't work out so well, considering the small size of the space between the deck and the concrete under the deck, and the size of Taro's body. He was just able to squeeze his head and shoulders in, but that big butt of his ... weren't no way that was fittin in there, no sir.

This first time he was outside and it started raining, he thought the brother was using a squirt gun. He kept giving the brother SUCH a look!

And he was such an ORNERY cuss, too. Any little thing that was bad, he wanted to try. And when we told him no, he'd give us this utterly defiant look - one we'd never seen before. Ears half-back, eyes red, he batted at our sternly upraised finger with brazen denial, like a spoiled, tired child to a babysitter, "YOU'RE not the boss of me!"

Where had this aggression come from? we wondered, trying desperately NOT to chuckle. But we persisted, despite his displeasure.

From what information I've been able to gather, it's generally accepted that when it comes to the world beyond four walls, Ragdolls ain't the brightest kids in class. And after living with Taro, I have to admit: if he's typical of the breed, then they really should be indoor-only cats.

When we moved from that house to a different one. The family room was attached to the garage, which had an automatic door and a laundry area. But we no longer had a yard for him to explore, and kept him locked up in the house. He pretended to accept this, but longed for the freedom of wandering outside, as he'd seen other cats do through the window.

Until one day...

It was summer, and the days were hot - typical of a Southern California summer. In order to try to cool the house, we had opened the garage door, and propped open the door to the garage just a bit. The folks were watching TV in the family room, so no one really gave it much thought. After the evening breeze came in from the ocean, it cooled off enough, and we closed the garage door.

A few hours later, Mom realized she couldn't find Taro. We looked around, checked all his favorite hiding places. Nope, not under the bed. Nope, not behind the table. Not even hiding in his carrier. We couldn't find him.

Then we realized... he must have snuck out while the door to the garage was open!

We went and looked through the cluttered garage, but he wasn't there. Oh no! He must have gotten all the way outside! But he didn't know how to take care of himself outside! He might get run over! He might get attacked by a dog! Or another cat!

Panic, panic, PANIC!

We mobilized immediately, fanning out to comb the street. It was maybe 9:30pm. It was pretty dark. Armed with little mini-Maglites, we peered into bushes and called out for him, hoping he wasn't too terrified to respond.

Mom was nearly in tears. Dad told her to stay close to the house, in case Taro somehow managed to get home by himself.

The neighbor's cat came by, and noticed Mom's distress. He came close and looked up at her, as if asking her what was the matter, why was she crying.

"I can't find my baby, Taro," she told the cat. "He's gone."

And that's when something amazing happened.

The cat looked up at her, and then looked towards the back, where the garage door was. He walked a few steps, towards the garage, then turned back to my Mom expectantly. When she didn't respond, he did it again. Hesitantly, she followed.

The cat led her to a dark corner right next to the garage door - where we kept the recycle bins stacked. He went up to one of them and sniffed it pointedly, then looked at my Mom.

So she called, softly. "Taro...?"

From out of the darkness, a shaggy head slowly rose. Covered with leaves and dirty, face utterly frightened and relieved all at the same time, was a shivering Taro. He had got caught outside, all right - but luckily, he had not gone into the street, as we feared.

Mom grabbed the brat from his hiding place and took him inside, after much hugging and relief. For once, he didn't seem to mind the fuss. And the neighbor's cat got Mom's undying gratitude, and a can of tuna.

Since that night, Taro has no further desire to explore the great outdoors. He likes it much better inside, where it is warm and safe.

Thus ends the tale of Taro and the Great Outdoors.