going up

going up

W

hen I saw him carrying the loose boards through the house, he stopped me before I could get the words out of my mouth.

“Don’t ask,” Scott said as he returned to the yard with them.

There was some sawing, a little hammering and then there was this: a ramp. Resting at a 45 degree angle between a table and the top of a bookcase in Peaches’ room, the ramp is designed to allow the three-legged kitten a quick means of egress to higher ground should she feel threatened or merely overwhelmed. I kind of wish I had one.

“She’s getting faster on it,” Peaches reports. “When she first got on it, she kind of hopped a little slow but she got up it. Now she can scamper up and she’s going smoothly down.”

I’m probably making it sound as if the ramp is an easy fix for some in-house challenges Lemon the kitten will face, but that isn’t my intention. Scott put in paw-holds, sure (no, really, he did), but the ramp takes some seriously committed scrambling on the part of the user to be effective as a means of retreat. It is the best working example I’ve seen in recent memory of the responsibility each of us has for saving ourselves, regardless of the circumstances.

I’m of the opinion that means of self-preservation or opportunities to simply change the current state of affairs are always quietly presenting themselves to us. Accessing them, however, still requires some effort on the part of the part of us— the beleaguered, the redundant, the hopeless; you know, those most in need of saving.

If Lemon the cat could weigh in, I think she might tell you to look up; the nearest exit might be right above you. (But be advised: you may have to climb for it.)