Anyway, Doc likes to climb high. We have barn-style wood all through our family room downstairs – very cat scalable. Every three weeks or so, I can hear Doc climbing the walls to get into the ceiling. Scritch scratch, scritch scritch scratch. It’s fingernails on a chalkboard bad. HOW DOES CAT GET INTO CEILING, you ask. Well, we have a single tile that’s not currently filled in in the drop ceiling. There are wires and other things running out of it, and we need to handcut the fiberglass to fit right.
I never get downstairs fast enough to prevent Ceiling Cat from ascending to Ceiling Status, though I have tried mightily. We have this small mountain of boxes and crap stacked in front of the open tile in hopes of thwarting the smarmy little bastard, but it never works. He’s like Houdini on a mission.
Ceiling Cat does his Ceiling Thing for a while before he starts to get annoying. It’s not really awful that he’s up in there, it’s just kind of tedious because surer than shit, he’ll get stuck sooner or later and I have to fish him out. Ever tried fishing a cat out of a ceiling that’s terrified of you, but still adament that you rescue him when he can’t figure out how to get down? Yeah, NOT FUN. It’s like birthing a baby: you reach real far in, and you pull, and after an epic battle of pain and the miracle of human will, what comes out usually results in blood and something squirming in your arms.
I should have suspected Doc’d be a pain in the butt about the climbing thing from past experiences in the apartment. He used to climb the chimney and get stuck. It was the same situation; he’d get wedged in there, get a few feet up, and realize in abject horror that he was too stupid to get out. He’d scream until you dragged him out. It was oddly endearing to walk into the living room and just see this enormous, bushy tail dragging out of the chimney. It gold old real quick, though, because Doc doesn’t have a pretty meow. It’s a bit like a raccoon stuck in a woodchipper.