Locked out

Early this morning, I took some cans out to the recycling bin in the garage, turned around, and discovered that the door that leads from the garage to the kitchen had locked behind me. I ended up standing on our front porch in my pajamas (NKOTB concert t-shirt and baggy pink plaid pants) ringing the doorbell repeatedly in hopes that my loving family would come rescue me.
For a long, long, long time, the only member of my loving family who responded to my doorbell ringing was, of course, Garland. She ran to the door and then stared at me through the window. For a few seconds, I had foolish hopes that maybe she’d rush off to get help, Lassie-style. Of course, she did not. It didn’t even occur to her to go get help. Garland is a cat. Cats don’t know how to be helpful.
Finally, after the doorbell had been ringing continually for about 10 minutes, WCK sensed that maybe something was amiss, and she went to get Jay. I’m back inside the house, no thanks to the cat. I hope the neighbors understand.