I saw a cat sitting on the third floor balcony of another apartment in my building. We are on the third floor as well, but don’t let the cats out on the balcony because I have issues with such things. The cat was sitting on the edge of the balcony, happy as can be.
I wish I could let Dayle & Sera out on our balcony, but I just don’t trust things. I don’t trust that one of them won’t miscalculate on a jump (which Dayle does often) or slip, or try to chase a bird off the edge, or some other mistake or accident leading to one of them falling off and down to the pavement, or to huffy’s roof. Three floors isn’t that far, but it’s far enough.
And really, I don’t think I could go through that again. I still have nightmares and flashbacks and feel horrendously sick to my stomach from memories of the first time it happened, off that 17th story balcony by pure accident. As such, the cats stay in, and we have to lock them up when we want to open the windows or the balcony door since there are no got-damn screens in this got-damn province. I’m hoping to get a screen custom-made for the patio door – we tried to buy a standard one but it didn’t fit.
Anyhow. It’s sad that my paranoia keeps the cats inside and not on the balcony watching the world like that orange tabby on the other side of the building. But for my sanity it’s for the best. It’s been something like seven years since then, and the memory hasn’t become easier to deal with – it doesn’t seem like it’s going to any time soon.