The good times had to end, I guess.

For several weeks, Romeo has been on his best behavior. I let him out when we get back from our morning walk about 7 a.m.

He does a boundary patrol, checking the ferns in front, out to the top of the driveway, back around the side of the yard, under the house, around the back yard. And then, at least for several weeks, he’s voluntarily returned and presented himself at the door. I let him back in, reward him with a bit of canned cat food, and we’re all happy.

Yesterday he didn’t return. I called. I toured the yard. I called a bit more.

We finally left for town without seeing him.

By the time we got home in the late afternoon, he was waiting.

And he had been in a fight.

And since we didn’t hear anything in the yard when he went out, it must mean that he went looking for the fight. He must have caught a scent and gone looking for Lumber, the friendly orange cat from down the hill. We haven’t seen Lumber for perhaps a month or so, but Romeo must have caught up with him. And Romeo now has the bloody scratches to prove it.

So I’ve revoked Romeo’s probation, and he’s back under house arrest.

He is not happy about it, and not happy about the stuff I’ve put on his wounds.

And so it goes in our little world of cats.

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