I stood at the back door shaking the cat food like Crazy Cat Lady. There came the familiar tinkling noise of Kat the Cat’s collar bell, and I waited for her appearance.
The distressed noise came from somewhere above my head, and I rolled my eyes in some annoyance. She was on the conservatory roof again.
“Get down!” I ordered firmly, stepping out into the yard to look up and glare sternly at the cat. She hesitantly put a paw over the edge of the roof. “No!” I yelped in alarm, “Not like that, you twit! Climb down the way you got up!” Kat stared blankly at me, ran along the edge of the roof several times, and then crouched down nervously. I sighed.
“Here,” I said patiently, lifting the lid of a Kerbie box over my head and setting it in front of my incredibly stupid pet, “Step on to this. Come on. There’s a good cat. Come on, Kat…”
No amount of coaxing would persuade her that I could be trusted. I returned to the house, but after a frustrating few minutes of hanging out the bathroom window in an attempt to drag her upwards, I found myself outside once again.
“Right!” I said determinedly, really trying not to lose my temper as she whimpered pathetically at the edge of the roof. “You want me to come up there? Fine. It’s not like I have anything better to do than clamber around on rooftops in the dark, rescuing mentally challenged animals.”
Miaow! said Kat, pitifully.
I climbed on to the garden wall, hoisted myself up on to the gate pillar, and wobbled precariously, my hands on the conservatory roof. “Come on, Kat!” I said in a voice that was much more gentle than I felt. She ran gratefully towards me and I caught hold of her. I paused momentarily, wondering how to get back down without the use of my hands. Could I just throw the cat, or would that be mean?
Kat the Cat read my hesitation as a murder plot, and went into automatic defence mode. Miaow! she cried angrily, as her claws came out and swiped me across the face. “Owwwww!” I howled, staggering back and making a less than graceful dismount from the pillar, all the while holding the cat above my head in a most self-sacrificial manner. Kat stalked indignantly into the house without a murmur of gratitude.
I sat for a long time in the yard, clutching my injured ankle with one hand and rubbing my scratched face with the other.
Seriously. Whoever ends up with my cat when I leave: good luck with that. Let me know how it all works out for you.