Today I took Fluffy for a walk.
Or tried to, anyway.
I did the same thing yesterday, except without the leash. I was really happy that she was sniffing new places and putting her paws on foreign grounds, except then I had to use the bathroom and brought her back inside. But my father said I shouldn’t do it.
“A car could have scared her, or a dog could have been passing by and chased her,” he said.
But I was determined to let her have her fun. So today, aided by my mom and our helper, Daisy, we strapped her into a leash. She didn’t struggle, for some reason, only gave a few sad meows. Oh, well. she is a very old cat, after all. But she must have felt quite silly, a cat wearing a leash, as she refused to budge. At least, until I carried her out the door, still as limp as ever. Then she just sat there, on the ground, for about five seconds, before tearing through the side of the gate and stopping right at the door.
“No, Fluffy,” I said, as I carried her back outside. I wanted her to be brave and conquer her fears, so I brought her to another house. She wandered around, sniffing, looking at me, as if to say, this house is not mine. She meowed pitifully, and I said, “No, Fluffy,” though my heart was melting. Finally, I brought her back to our house. She tried to get through the side of the gate, but she couldn’t, for some reason. I stared at her, and then let her use the people entrance, which she tentatively stepped through. She bolted to the door and pawed at it nervously, and I let her in.