Ever since Junior adopted us, he ran to us when chased by other cats. He gets quite brave once we go out to chase off invaders; he fluffs his tail and growls a not-very-fierce-show of tiny force. Since he spends most of his time outdoors now that the weather is nice, if a mean cat comes into the yard, he will come flying through the cat door to get us. He sub-vocalizes that growling noise to let us know: Invaders have come!

We always go outside and chase the mean cats away. For the most part, they run off without a fight, although the one neighbor cat–a calico–likes to give us a hiss just to pretend she is boss. Junior, very helpfully, runs at these invader cats once we are there to back him up. In the case of the calico, she sometimes turns and spits at him if he gets too close. Junior always looks back at us with the, “You’re still there, right?” look on his face.

Today, I was sitting at the computer, working away. The Mint sweeper was sweeping. The cat door flapped loudly and in raced…Scamper?

Halfway across the living room, she seemed to realize that she wasn’t sure what happened next. Sure, she’s seen Junior come running in that cat door a thousand times when an enemy cat approaches. The humans then appeared and chased invaders away. But I’m not sure she knew what to do once she came in the cat door. She hadn’t seen that part of the operation.

She turned and looked at me and then back toward the cat door–her only escape. Her little head swiveled back and forth.

I wasn’t sure she’d let me go to the door because it would block her exit. Plus, I wasn’t sure there was an invader, but Scamper does not usually come flying full speed in the cat door. She is the sneaky type. Most of the time when she comes or goes, she lets her tail slide out so slowly the door closes without a sound.

I talked to her as I got up, reassuring her she was safe. Of course, she didn’t believe me. That cat hasn’t believed a word I’ve said since the day she met me. I thought about opening her garage exit, but she was too far into the living room. I would have had to walk right at her.

So, I moved as fast as possible to the back door. She watched. I looked out. Sure enough, Miss Fat Calico was sauntering about the yard as though she owned the place.

Out I went. Junior stood on one of the lawn chairs, his tail fluffed four times the normal size. We chased that mean ole cat under the fence. Scamper stayed inside–where apparently, she knew she was safe.

How about that. Scamper came and asked for help. How about that.