Another Tough Day for Tobias

My poor kitty!  He is tormented on one side by his enemy the devilish squirrel, and now, a tempting morsel has returned with her family to their summer home on my back porch.  He sits on the windowsill at the front of the house and scowls at the squirrel who delights in teasing him with snickers and sneers, and then runs to sit on my kitchen table, plaintively staring out at the little wrens who live about three feet beyond the glass pane.  They too give him cocky little looks, as if to say, “Your mother won’t let you get us!”  This presents me with a dilemma.  When the weather is fine, I usually leave my back door open so as to have pleasant bright air and to feel a part of the world outside my kitchen.  What to do?  Close us in our stuffy house all spring, or enjoy the nearness of the trees and flowers,  letting the birds fend for themselves?  I would hate to find this on my kitchen floor, but on the other hand ….. all that lovely vernal freshness going to waste!  So I have been keeping the door open sometimes, when I am there to monitor the situation, but I find that the birds seem to know the difference between a cat behind a window pane and a cat sitting below their nest.  They keep a low profile when Tobias is about.  And Himself seems actually less interested in the birds when he can watch the children play in the park next door. 

He is never allowed out into the actual outdoors, but occasionally he makes a sneaky bid for freedom, becoming a grey streak between my legs as I open the door to pick up the newspaper or suchlike.  I am vigilant about keeping him behind closed doors whenever I open the front door but once in a while he silently lurks on the stairs, pretending he is in another part of the house until the door opens a crack.  He transforms into a furry lightening bolt and is gone.  He did this as I was baking a cake the other day, much to my horror.  I went out after him, pleading with him to come to Mummy, but every time I approached him, the little fellow ran off to another part of the garden.  Finally, fearing that I would drive him into the street, I went in and wrung my hands for about 45 minutes, until I heard pathetic mewing at the door.  “Outside isn’t all it was trumped up to be,” he said.  “I would rather sit in your lap and be caressed.”