When we first got Kitty, she was a mischievous little bugger; digging in plants and knocking things over.
So when The Husband called me at work one day and, without preamble, said "Now before I tell you this, everything is OK" my immediate thought was that Kitty had knocked over my prized ceramic bust of David that I had worked on for weeks.
Later, I would realize that I clearly have to set my worry standards MUCH higher!
It seems that Kitty had followed The Husband onto the balcony of our apartment. Once she got out there, she panicked. She ran back and forth a couple of times then finally sailed right through the bars … all four legs stretched out like a hang glider.
Our fourth-floor apartment was above the main entrance to the building, over which was a concrete awning.
PING! She hit the awning and bounced off. THUNK! She hit the grass.
The Husband raced downstairs and found her cowering in the bushes. He brought her back upstairs where she immediately ran under the bed. Then he called me.
I called the vet, who assured me that cats can easily survive a six-floor drop and as long as she's eating and there's no blood in her poop, she's ok. I expected her to be cowering under the bed when I get home. But instead, she told me all about her exciting day, babbling on for quite some time.
The psychological trauma, however, is a completely different issue.
For weeks afterwards, The Husband would taunt Kitty by chanting MEEEEE-OWWWWW!
It was about four years before she would even jump up on the wing chair near the window to gaze out over her domain.
And even up to the day we moved out, whenever we opened the balcony door, she'd bolt out of the room and hide under the bed.
Kitty's therapist says she's making progress, though.