In the weeks after adopting Beau, I became super-hyper-conscious of how many damn exit points there are in our new(ish?) house. Our old house had two doors and one gate, and you could stand in a single spot in the foyer and get the open/close status on all three at once.
Now there are five different doors that lead to the outside, spread across three different levels. Three doors lead to the backyard, where there are then two different gates that could possibly be open, on complete opposite sides of the yard. One doors to the garage, where there are two more doors to worry about, especially since one of our neighbor's garage remotes accidentally opens ours by some weird cross-signal coding glitch. The front door has a storm door back-up, but that's useless unless it's locked because Beau quickly figured out he could push it open with his front legs and bolt to freedom, terrible freedom.
For awhile there, our house felt more like some algebraic danger map of escape routes and combinations -- check that door, then the door after that, run from window to window to confirm gates are latched, solve for X, divide by π, multiply by factor of wine, etc.
Thankfully, as I've mentioned before (and thus tempted fate repeatedly), Beau adjusted and knocked that shit off. We're still super careful, but the thought of a potentially unattended open door lurking somewhere in the house no longer keeps me up and OCDing all night.
But now we have the cats. In particular, Rey, who, when she's not falling out of windows or pulling shit like this...
...is constantly getting her ass shut up somewhere.
I just counted, and this house has 26 fucking doors INSIDE the house. (Hell, I didn't even notice all of the doors until we were at inspection and discovered two entirely new storage areas, Narnia-style.) Of those 26, I estimate that Rey's ended up on the wrong side of at least half.
(Finn's only been shut up twice that I know of, though one of those times involved me removing a mysteriously locked-from-the-inside doorknob [IKEEEEEEEEE] with power tools, so perhaps he gets extra points.)
And that count doesn't even include all the OTHER random kitchen and bathroom cabinets, drawers, and storage furniture she's managed to climb into without anyone noticing. Her black fur allows her to simply disappear into corners and shadows and hide from any quick room/cabinet scan, and while her brother seems to understand the consequences of a closing door and will run out at the last second...Rey is...
Well, she sure is pretty.
(Also, new laundry rule: ALWAYS CHECK THE WASHER AND DRYER FOR A CAT BEFORE HITTING THE START BUTTON.)
Both cats like to be up and wandering for most of the night, with maybe one short pit stop in our bed before heading out again, then they both reappear like magic in the morning at the siren call of the can opener. Except the times when Rey doesn't show up.
This has led to a couple frantic morning searches for her. (Which still give me a wicked case of PTSD flashbacks to that horrible night when it slowly dawned on us that no, Ceiba really was not in the house anywhere.) We run around opening doors and listening for her kitten-like meows, and EVERY TIME, just as we start trying to figure out if there was any chance that she slipped outside the night before, one of us opens a door we hadn't thought to try (i.e. the water heater closet, the built-in storage cabinets in the living room) and her panicked ass comes bolting out, having learned everything and nothing.
Meanwhile, if there was a cat who probably WOULD benefit from a night of peace and quiet locked up somewhere, it's poor, long-suffering Finn.
Sometimes he really does sit there and let them push him around like a baby.
(This was not one of those times.)
(This time kind of was.)