Choose your friends wisely. Particularly when given to fainting.
It will, immeasurably, add to my mystique that I can now claim that one of my correspondents, BHB, close to my heart, let her cat out ca 2 in the morning; the cat, half way up the tree, consequently eaten by a coyote. How romantic is that? Anyone can go all Little Red Riding Hood, out in the woods, with her little basket, and ask the wolf in bed and in granny’s clothing: “Why are your arms so hairy?” To have your cat devoured by a coyote raises the stakes.
Hope the cat was fat.