She thought, by the way he was behaving, that the tabby wanted to go out via the pet door. The hard plastic cover was off, but he had issues with it. The youngest (and newest) member of their floofdom, he’d not been socialized well. He distrusted people and other animals, and stayed wary. That seemed like learned behavior, as he was otherwise so sweet, and smart.

He always had trouble with the pet door, though. Her working theory was that the other cats (old and tough rescues from the street who still argued about who ruled the house) often ambushed the tabby when he used the pet door, so he was leery of it. It fit, as theories go.

“You want to go out?” she asked him, heading for the pet door. Sitting four feet from it, he lifted his pretty green eyes from the pet door to regard her but immediately put attention back on the door. His look said, there’s someone out there. If you want to know, you look.

She scoffed. “There’s no one out there. I’ll prove it.”

Looking out, she did see another. Not recognizing them in the dim light (was it the fluffy cat from next door?) she got down on her hands and knees. Pushing the door flap up, she called to the other animal, “Here, kitty, kitty.” As it ambled toward her, she realized, skunk.

Post haste, she dropped the flap and put the hard plastic door on. Standing, hands on hips, she gazed down at her tabby. “You knew, didn’t you?” she accused him.

Yawning, he stood and stretched. Entertainment over, he turned, put his tail up, and dashed down the hall.