Close Call

So, this weekend was one of those amazing fall weekends in the mountains that seem like some kind of magic is involved.  The sky is a perfect, crisp blue that looks like it was pulled wholesale out of a Crayola box.  The leaves have suddenly turned some combination of red, gold, orange and bronze that seem like they've come out of a painting.  And all weekend long, we had these powerful gusts of wind that caused the leaves to fly and careen like they were part of Hurricane Autumn or something.  Mister was transfixed.  When he wasn't hunkered down in front of the big full-length glass doors with his head twitching at the leaves like he was having a fit, he was tearing around the house at full gallop, so full of excitement about the dancing leaves that he literally could not contain himself.

Yesterday, I took him out on his harness, which he expressed concern about.  We took Wanda and Otto out on the porch and spent a lot of time retrieving them from beside the house.  The only one who normally goes out but didn't was Reggie.

So this afternoon, I made a point of taking Reggie out.  The sun had started its descent behind the mountain, so it was beginning to get a little chilly again.  Sean had Otto in his lap, and I was standing to the side of the house, half-heartedly keeping an eye on our Halloween cat.  (Reggie always looks like he's dressed as a well-fed tick for Halloween.)  Reggie can't run very fast or very far, so I confess I got a little lax in my cat-watching duties.  I always feel like I can outrun Reggie if I need to, so there's not as much urgency needed in watching him.  

I was wrong.

I'm sure every animal parent and regular parent has them:  those moments when time seems to stand still.  And when I turned my head to see what kind of mischief Reggie had gotten himself into, I realized that Reggie had squeezed himself between the rails that ostensibly kept people safe from the 15-foot plunge to the concrete floor leading to the basement, and was proceeding to walk along the six-inch ledge with nothing separating him from that drop.  

For a few seconds, my blood seemed to run cold and my heart seemed frozen in my chest.  

I stifled a scream, and instead called for Sean, in a tone almost approximating a whisper.  Sean asked me what was up.  I asked him again to approach slowly.  Reggie seemed oblivious to the danger.  Reggie, who can barely walk a straight line due to his almost imperceptible limp.  Reggie, whose balance isn't that great to begin with, and whose girth certainly didn't help matters.  Reggie just walked along the ledge, with me willing him with each step not to fall; to please for the love of god just turn right and come back through the railing again.  I figured if I yelled at him, I would startle him into falling.  And if I approached him, he would probably lose his balance and fall.  Both would probably result in an ex-Reggie.  And I wasn't ready to let go of Reggie just yet.

So I held my breath.  And I waited.  And Reggie casually took a right-hand turn away from the danger.

Reggie got a one-way human taxi-ride back inside the house after that.  A little while later, my heart stopped pounding out of my chest.  I've never had a cat put in so much obvious danger before, save the seven kajillion times that Mister has flown the coop.  And I hope like heck never to experience that again.  

Reggie and I will be snuggling a little bit closer tonight, I'm sure.  I'll make sure of that.