He’s feeling better.
He came out the access hatch, I guess, and trapped himself in the bathroom when he heard me coming. His only way out was the door — and no guarantee he’d go back in the walls when he’d have the run of the whole house– and the window at the far end, to which he was clinging, growling gently.
I opened the door and tried to use my bathrobe to steer him back the way he’d come, but he was having none of that. I was afraid if I got in the room with him, he’d make a leap for my head and Very Bad Things would ensue. Don’t laugh. I raised a passle of these buggers, they tend to nominate the tallest thing in the room as an honorary tree and then immediately climb it. I’ve never had the rabies series, and I like it that way (though apparently it’s not that ghastly in-the-stomach thing any more).
Neither of us was getting less panicky, so I finally got in the room with him, headed for the window, fumbled with it and tried to ignore the banging and crashing behind me. When I got it opened and turned, he was crouched on the sink (you know, I ask a lot of my tooth brush). He made one heroic flying leap past me and onto the sill and shot straight into outer space. I mean, sailed over the roof without touching and right down into the back yard.
We’re up on the second floor, so I went outside and make sure he hadn’t stunned himself unconscious when he landed. All I needed was a cat bringing him back in. (The cats? Useless. They probably spent the whole day with him up here).
First man jack of yez to make fun of my lacy bathroom curtains gets a disemboweling. Gratis.