Cats talk. Really, they do. With their eyes. With their tail. And with their voice. This morning Benji used his voice to issue the distress call, not urgently but definitely.
I wandered around the house looking for him but he was not in the usual places. Not by the door wanting out (different voice.) Not on the landing, where he was singing, earlier in the day.
The doors inside the house were open so I hadn’t accidentally shut him into a room. It was quiet now but I’d heard the call and continued looking. Hadn’t I cat-proofed the house enough by now?
I went downstairs to the laundry room/bathroom/cat box room and there he was. Near the ceiling. On top of the stacked washer and dryer. The gap behind was deep and wide enough for him to fall into.
He must have jumped to the top of the dryer from the sink and should have been able to jump back down the same way. He likely knew he wasn’t supposed to be there and called for help just in case. I climbed onto the toilet seat, reached up and brought him down, grateful he hadn’t taken an inquisitive or accidental plunge behind. I can’t imagine the hassle of trying to get him out of there if he’d fallen. Makes me shudder.
My husband assured me our smart Benji was quite able to get down without my assistance (probably true) but has since sealed off the area to prevent any possible mishaps. All is well.