In high-decibel test of wills, score is cat 1, Frumpy 0

I'm a bad, bad person. I know some of you already know this, but it's something of a revelation to me.

The reason that I'm feeling guilty is that I've started letting our Siamese cat, Cairo the Jerk, go outside into our backyard in violation of what is considered to be proper cat protocol these days.

But please, at least hear me out before you start that angry email to the editors. Because it's better to let him go outside than to throttle him, which would be the only thing left to do if I didn't let him out.

See, Cairo has a piercing yowl that is unmatched by any sound I've ever heard, and it's the approximate volume of the world's loudest foghorn.

I'm pretty sure it can be heard from space.

I watched an episode of “Nova” in which scientists determined that a cat's meow triggers in humans an emotional response similar to that of a baby's cry. Even creepier? Adult cats apparently only meow to humans, seemingly because they know we'll react as we do with babies.

Perhaps you have nerves of steel and could resist Cairo's yowling, but I don't. And I've simply given in.

My first mistake, and I admit it, was deciding it was time to get a cat.

Until recently, we just had one pet — a small generic white dog named Lil Wayne. He loves everyone and everything unless you're a burglar, so don't try to break into our home. He will lick you to death.

I've wanted a Siamese cat for years. But they're almost impossible to get from the pound. So when I saw online that this Siamese had just become available because his owner had sadly passed away, I grabbed my son and we dashed over to the shelter.

Cooped up in his cage in the cat room, he purred loudly and generally seemed lovey-dovey, like it would be a joy to bring him home. This was all fake — an act designed to get himself out of the cage.

As soon as he got into our house, he basically ignored us, swiped his claws at the poor dog every time he approached in a friendly manner, and made it clear that this was now HIS house and we were merely there to serve him.

More than a year later, little has changed, except that the dog and cat are now friends.

Let me describe my mornings.

See, Cairo likes to have his breakfast at 5 a.m. My bedroom is next to the kitchen. (I do not let him sleep in my room, because he spends all night knocking everything off my dresser for fun.)

So when he's ready for his humble servant to provide his breakfast, he stands outside my door and yowls. And yowls. And yowls. Really, he could shatter glass.

So, I admit it, he's trained me. I now get up when I can't stand his yowls anymore, stumble into the kitchen in the dark, grab his dry kibble and pour it into his bowl. Then I go back to sleep. But wait. There's more. When we first brought Cairo home, I felt sure he'd never been outside before.

However, he desperately wanted to get outside our suburban house, and he kept figuring out how to do it. Seriously, this cat could master cold fusion.

He knocked out the screen in the bathroom window and made the leap to the wide world outside. He learned to dart out as soon as anyone came in the door in the hope that they wouldn't notice. He paws incessantly at our wooden front door and, sometimes, he can get it to pop open.

So despite our best efforts, he became acquainted with the Great Outdoors, and he likes it there. The problem is that we have coyotes in our neighborhood, and they're always prowling for some nice tender kitty tenders for dinner.

So we try to keep Cairo the Jerk indoors. The operative word here is “try.”

Lately, he's taken to standing outside my bedroom door after he's had his breakfast, and demanding loudly to go outside.

Some of you are saying, “Well, I'd nip that right in the bud.” And good for you, Barney Fife. I'm a weak vessel. After resisting this the best I could for a few days, I gave up.

Now, I get up, stagger over to let him out the back door into the fenced yard and fall back asleep in the suddenly blissful silence. Later in the morning, someone in the house always fetches him back in.

I feel guilty about this, as I mentioned, because I know it's dangerous out there. But I don't have enough duct tape to cover his mouth, and, as I said, I'm a weak person.

So, yeah, go ahead and write that irate letter. And if anyone wants a slightly used Siamese cat, let me know.