A lesson in closing doors

I may have learned a lot of things thus far in college, but apparently I have not learned how to close the front door.

I bolted out the door--late, as usual--yesterday afternoon to meet a friend at Starbucks. The second the barista handed me my hot chocolate (my taste buds are not sophisticated enough for coffee), I got a panicked message from my roommate that she had come downstairs to find the front door open and all of the cats gone. She had managed to catch four out of five (yes, we're up to five cats at the moment, I'm as horrified as you are), but my baby girl Greta was nowhere to be found.

One Chinese firedrill and a spilled hot chocolate later, my friend and I made it back to my apartment building and joined in on the epic search. We questioned neighbors and trekked through snow for half an hour, me all the while trying not to have a breakdown. I finally thought to ask Christine if she had checked under my bed, Greta's favorite hiding place... but she wasn't there either.

She was lying on the floor in front of the heating vent. That's my girl.