Daily Grumble

So the super and a couple of workmen are in my kitchen this morning measuring for a new floor. Apartment door: open. I look over from my desk and catch a glimpse of Shelley out in the hallway. Shit. I make an awkward jump over the workers just in time to see her dashing up the stairs. I pursue. Fourth floor. She looks back at me, yowls and hisses. Takes off. Fifth floor. More hissing. I get within 20 feet of her, she screams, takes off. So not like her. Then I think she's trapped in a dead end hallway, end of crisis. But, no. Somebody's door is open and she dashes in. Fuck. I tap on the open door, "Hello? My cat just ran in here!" No answer. I see Shelley's tail under their couch and hoping not to get shot, run over to pull her out. Much scratching and hysterical yowling ensues, but I finally yank her out.

AND IT WASN'T SHELLEY.

Looked like her, just a little smaller, but totally not MY cat. Just somebody else's poor kitty that got chased into her own apartment by a terrifying stranger. Bleeding and embarassed, I return to my apartment where Shelley is calmly sitting on the windowsill, looking all "What?" The end.