Getting ready for work one morning, I came out of the bedroom to find Willy half under the credenza in the dining area, only his back half visible. I stopped. He lay absolutely still until I said his name: "Willy?" His hind legs scrabbled on the hard wood. He was stuck. Attempting to retrieve a cat toy, he had pushed his head, front legs and upper body under the cabinet. Once his rib cage had cleared, he couldn't pull himself back out. I have no idea how long he'd been there nor how long he'd struggled to extricate himself. He'd obviously given up, until he thought help had arrived.

"Okay, okay. Hold on," I said. I stooped down and placed my hand on his side, thinking I might be able to compress him just enough to slide him back out. "Meow, ow!" he said. Okay, no, that wasn't going to work.

His hind legs continued to flail (and I assumed his front legs as well, though I couldn't see them) in a futile attempt to get free.

"Willy, stop. Just hold still." This advice he ignored. "Mew," he said, "Mew, mew, mew…get me out of here."

I crouched in front of the credenza, grabbed the front with both hands and lifted. It's a heavy piece of furniture, but Willy wasn't stuck by much, and by lifting it just an inch or so, he was able to push himself back out. I lowered the credenza.

He didn't run, which I assumed he would. He simply sat beside me and started grooming, as if to say, "Very good; you passed the credenza test. And by the way, would you mind retrieving that toy? It's still underneath."

And, of couse, I did.

Text and image © 2010 by Dirk deVries. All rights reserved.