It happens from time to time that while working in the barn, one hears the 
pathetic mewing of a kitten in distress. So it was today. Typically this 
means that one of the fuzzballs has got herself locked inside a box stall 
with a horse, so the first thing I did was check the stalls for cats. No 
dice. So I checked above the tackroom ceiling. Nothing. Hmm.
  I went back to stall cleaning, and the mewing recurred. Another check 
around the barn yielded no cat. Finally, as I was taking the wheelbarrow down 
the aisle, a mew sounded loud and very close. I looked all around. No cat. 
Having dealt with cats for some time, it then occurred to me to look UP, no 
matter how improbable that would seem.
    There was Lynn, eight feet off the ground, desperately clinging to the 
rail the stall door slides on. She was rapidly losing her grip and just out 
of reach, and she has reached that stage where she was casting fearful 
glances at the ground wich was about to zoom up and hit here.
    "Hold it right there!" I told here, and she obeyed, sort of, while I 
dashed to the front of the barn, retrieved a chair and recovered the wayward 
pussycat. Full of trust, she freely let go of her perch, something stranded 
cats rarely do. I put her on a high bale in the hay room and gave her a rub. 
She burst into a fair imitation of a gravel track descending a steep grade 
with the Jake brake on.
    I still don't know how she got up there. She would have had to climb four 
feet of sheer wall and another four feet of chain link mesh to get there. She 
could not jump the distance, due to her small size. Climbing up a horse is a 
possibilty, but I hardly think His Lordship would have stood still for that. 
The barn is a magic place, I guess, where the law of gravity is optional.
--- Maximus 3.01
---------------