And so as I was getting up from my seat, planning to go home after work yesterday, I got a call from the Wife.
"Oh no, the cat locked me out."
I was like, "wtf?"
"Greyee pushed the lock behind and now I cannot open the door!!"
Let us take a minute to truly fathom the sheer hilarity of the situation...
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Ok, minute over
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.
.
On hindsight I sorta expected this to happen one fine day, preferably a day when we are BOTH out.
You see, the latch-lock (whacamacallit?) behind the door is pretty loose these days and recent weeks has seen it being pushed by old Mr. Greyee while he jumps up and about the shoe rack that's placed oh so deliciously near the door.
Once I was also locked out of the house when I got home one day and I was not amused because I was tired and just wanted to get in the house and laze. I thought it was the Wife's doing and growled at her dangerously through the door until I realised from her that she did no such thing of latching the door.
Then it suddenly occurred to me that it might be the cat's doing.
You know, you can never underestimate cats. These devious little creatures are smart I tell you. Once he even managed to fathom how to open my bags though they were obviously closed.
However, I am not surprised because our first cat demostrated that this isn't above and beyond what felines can achieve.
But this?
Locking the human masters out of the house??
This has got to be the first!
Anyway, the furore and drama went on for a good hour where in between I decide to just throw my hands in the air and call a locksmith to saw off the latch from the gap that the slightly ajar door afforded.
However, the Wife (bless her soul) apparently thought that since the cat locked us out, he very obviously could unlock it for us again.
How?
By tying a short string onto the latch-lock and dangling it above Greyee (he was by now firmly behind the door looking at us with some sort of macabre interest), by this she hopes to make the cat feel that the string was meant to be batted and swatted around like how he does to many of the dangly objects in the house.
With any luck, he may just swat the latch-lock aside and voila, we will be in.
Perfect.
My Wife is actually aspiring to be MacGuyver...
At 10 plus going on to 11 at night.
"Don't be silly, it's like 1 in dunno how many chance lor," I retorted, the ever practical prick that I am but still let the Wife try.
First time, the cat caught on the plot and tried to swat the string but ending up clawing my Wife's fingers, causing them to bleed a little.
Then the second time ending up in similar fashion.
"This is it," I snapped, snatching the string away, "this is not going to work, just wait for the locksmith."
The Wife got the message and relented, sitting by the door and still playing with the cat through the crack.
I gave the string back to her to play with the cat and focused on the long corridor, hoping to see the smith coming down the aisle.
Every now and then, I would turn around to spy the Wife playing the dangerous dangling game with Greyee and discover that the woman is still trying, damn! Won't she ever give up?
Thirty minutes later the guy came and just as he neared the door, anyone with a twisted sense of humor would guess what happen.
The door opened!
What...the...f***???
And the punchline was: the cat opened the door.
Mrs MacGuyver's crazy plan worked.
The odds were outta the window faster than you can say "Richard Dean Anderson".
Sheepishly, I turned to the locksmith and said, "Errr, sorry, but I think the cat just opened the door for us?"
I felt like an idiot, seriously.
So much for human intelligence.
After the locksmith left (but not before removing the latch-lock for us so that such things will not happen again - at a cost of 20 bucks "...it's for my transport."), the Wife turned to me and said, "see, lucky I never give up as easily as you did."
Bah, allow the Wife her moment of glory, I mused.
"Oh no, the cat locked me out."
I was like, "wtf?"
"Greyee pushed the lock behind and now I cannot open the door!!"
Let us take a minute to truly fathom the sheer hilarity of the situation...
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Ok, minute over
.
.
.
.
On hindsight I sorta expected this to happen one fine day, preferably a day when we are BOTH out.
You see, the latch-lock (whacamacallit?) behind the door is pretty loose these days and recent weeks has seen it being pushed by old Mr. Greyee while he jumps up and about the shoe rack that's placed oh so deliciously near the door.
Once I was also locked out of the house when I got home one day and I was not amused because I was tired and just wanted to get in the house and laze. I thought it was the Wife's doing and growled at her dangerously through the door until I realised from her that she did no such thing of latching the door.
Then it suddenly occurred to me that it might be the cat's doing.
You know, you can never underestimate cats. These devious little creatures are smart I tell you. Once he even managed to fathom how to open my bags though they were obviously closed.
However, I am not surprised because our first cat demostrated that this isn't above and beyond what felines can achieve.
But this?
Locking the human masters out of the house??
This has got to be the first!
Anyway, the furore and drama went on for a good hour where in between I decide to just throw my hands in the air and call a locksmith to saw off the latch from the gap that the slightly ajar door afforded.
However, the Wife (bless her soul) apparently thought that since the cat locked us out, he very obviously could unlock it for us again.
How?
By tying a short string onto the latch-lock and dangling it above Greyee (he was by now firmly behind the door looking at us with some sort of macabre interest), by this she hopes to make the cat feel that the string was meant to be batted and swatted around like how he does to many of the dangly objects in the house.
With any luck, he may just swat the latch-lock aside and voila, we will be in.
Perfect.
My Wife is actually aspiring to be MacGuyver...
At 10 plus going on to 11 at night.
"Don't be silly, it's like 1 in dunno how many chance lor," I retorted, the ever practical prick that I am but still let the Wife try.
First time, the cat caught on the plot and tried to swat the string but ending up clawing my Wife's fingers, causing them to bleed a little.
Then the second time ending up in similar fashion.
"This is it," I snapped, snatching the string away, "this is not going to work, just wait for the locksmith."
The Wife got the message and relented, sitting by the door and still playing with the cat through the crack.
I gave the string back to her to play with the cat and focused on the long corridor, hoping to see the smith coming down the aisle.
Every now and then, I would turn around to spy the Wife playing the dangerous dangling game with Greyee and discover that the woman is still trying, damn! Won't she ever give up?
Thirty minutes later the guy came and just as he neared the door, anyone with a twisted sense of humor would guess what happen.
The door opened!
What...the...f***???
And the punchline was: the cat opened the door.
Mrs MacGuyver's crazy plan worked.
The odds were outta the window faster than you can say "Richard Dean Anderson".
Sheepishly, I turned to the locksmith and said, "Errr, sorry, but I think the cat just opened the door for us?"
I felt like an idiot, seriously.
So much for human intelligence.
After the locksmith left (but not before removing the latch-lock for us so that such things will not happen again - at a cost of 20 bucks "...it's for my transport."), the Wife turned to me and said, "see, lucky I never give up as easily as you did."
Bah, allow the Wife her moment of glory, I mused.
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