This is Whiskers.
She is an escaper, she slips out between your feet so soft and fast you never even know until you see her outside. Ever since Mary Shelley killed the magpie years ago and I cried for days, cats are not allowed outside. The magpie had been scolding me and scolding me every morning while I worked on batik. Then Mary Shelley got out and killed it. The quiet was awefull.
So now Whiskers gets out. She is hard to catch. In desperation one day, I turned the hose on and sprayed the bushes until she ran back in. It was much easier than catching her.
Yesterday, she got out in front, so I turned on the hose. As soon as she heard the water rushing in the pipes and pushing the airbubbles through the hose, she ran back in.