That Time I Could Have Died.

Really, if I think about it, there’s more than one. Welcome to Stupid Sundays, when I confess some of my less-than-brilliant shenanigans.

This is a long time ago now, when I was living with Delilah in her parents’ condo. Except for the ongoing leaky problems, it was a great place. Gorgeous view of the city, my own bathroom and balcony, huge living room. It really was fabulous.

The one drawback to the fabulousness was the unpredictable roommate, Delilah. Waking up to strange men in the kitchen? Check. Finding that she had used all my milk and not replaced it? Check. Unknown substance abuse? Check. Friends buzzing in all night? Check. The neighbours hated her and blamed me.

It was a no pets building, and she insisted on keeping a cat. The cat would have been happier and better looked-after at her parents’ house. The cat was also monumentally stupid, and would do things like fall off the balcony onto the terrace below, and I would have to go and collect her from the downstairs neighbour because Delilah was out partying.

One night, E and I were sitting on the balcony drinking wine, and we didn’t notice she was gone for awhile, until I twigged that she hadn’t been skulking about. I turned the apartment upside down looking for her, to no avail.

“Uh, Liz?”
“What? Did you find her?”
“Um. No. But there’s meowing next door.”

I went out onto the balcony and called for her. Sure enough, she answered. From next door. Somehow she had managed not to fall down into downstairs’s terrace and had, instead, snuck past us and made it next door.

I craned my head around the shared wall. Their patio door was open, and the cat sat in their living room, looking at me innocently.

Of course, she would not come when called, offered kitty treats, or tuna. Next Door were out, obviously, or they would have noticed a cat in their place.

I was desperate. I was also half-cut. I actually climbed across the outside of the shared wall, swung myself onto the outside of Next Door’s balcony, and then clambered onto their balcony. The cat, curious, sauntered over to meet me at the patio door. I scooped her up and slung her over the balcony to E, who locked her inside our place. Then, shaking at my temerity, I swung back over the outside of the balcony and back onto ours. Then I had a couple of really big slugs of wine.

The cat repaid my kind and risky rescue by peeing on my bed. Delilah never thanked me, either.

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