Up the Down Fire Escape

I had just moved to a great new third floor apartment on the West Side. It was a newly remodeled attic; delightfully open and bright, and had the equivalent of a new car smell. The house was on the corner of a fairly major thoroughfare and a sleepy little street used only by its residents. The dining room window overlooked the fire escape. I couldn’t get the piano through the window, and there was no elevator in the old house. I didn’t like the idea of having to wrestle with a window to get out in case of fire, either. Thankfully, my new landlord agreed to replace the window with a door, and gave the guy on the first floor a break on his rent to do the job. The piano was lifted by crane and carefully guided into the house.

Only one more hurdle remained. My big orange cat Pouncer was accustomed to being an indoor/outdoor cat, and whereas there were probably not as many mice in the city as had been in the fields he used to roam, I wanted him to be able to go out. I couldn’t see the front door from my apartment. I couldn’t hear him from three flights up, or through walls and doors. I loved my cat, but no way could I see myself running up and down stairs several times to see if he was ready to come in. Aha! The fire escape!

I put Pouncer on the top step, actually a little landing. He looked around, looked at me, looked at the ridiculously steep fire escape, especially from the second floor to my new doorway. Finally, he cautiously put front paws on the step below, calibrating the wisdom of fitting the rest of his body on the narrow step. In slow motion, he managed to get his rear half on the step at the same time his front half began its descent to the next step. I could not hold back my laughter as he negotiated that tier in that same slow motion, about 12 steps. The rest of the descent to the ground went a little faster, as the steps were less steep and wider, so his whole body could fit on each step if he wanted to pause.

The first flight of steps was up against the garage on the left, and on the right it was open to the little street that posed little hazard to a pet. Once Pouncer disappeared behind the garage, I left my post at the door and puttered about my lovely new home.

After a short while, I opened the door to the fire escape, and called Pouncer. He appeared on the other side of the garage, spoke to me, and started to jump up to the garage. He made a few attempts at jumping, then sat on his haunches and looked at me. He looked right and left. He looked at me. Suddenly, he took off with certainty and determination, ran around the garage to the fire escape and sped up the steps into the apartment.

Pouncer went out at least once a day for the nearly three years I lived in that apartment. He never showed any hesitation again, and I could hear his meow on the little fire escape landing when he wanted to come in. He still took that first flight down somewhat gingerly, but faster than the first time. I continued to laugh as I watched him descend that narrow flight, hoping I’d never have to walk down it myself.

No one can tell me that Pouncer didn’t think/reason/remember about how to get back to his new home. He saw the goal, but there was no path that he could see on that side of the garage. I realize that my words “certainty and determination” are anthropomorphic, but I swear I could almost see the light bulb, the aha! moment just before he took off to the fire escape.

Pouncer was about 5 years old then; seven years later he moved with me from Buffalo to San Jose and lived to be 14. I still miss him.