Last Friday night I fell asleep on the sofa (as is my custom), but when I got up at midnight I opened all the windows as I stumbled up to the bed to let in all the wonderfully cool night air.
Later the next day I went around closing the windows and noticed that the screen was up. I asked Lloyd what was happening and he said, “Yeah. I opened that yesterday.”
“Where’s the cat?” I asked.
Having her on the roof wasn’t really the big deal. We used to let Cricket and Pfennig out fairly often – it’s a good way for them to get a little fresh air without having to chase them down when it’s time to come in. Sure, there’s the threat of falling to your death, but that’s nothing for a cat. ‘Just don’t leap after a bird’, that’s what I say. The big deal was all the moths that flew in our house overnight, plus the possibility of bats coming in. (That can no longer happen.)
Another reason it doesn’t bother me: if she’s on the roof she can’t get pregnant.
Er, more pregnant.
We’re not sure.
I guess we’ll know in five weeks if she’s expecting or just fat. There’s no polite way to ask that question, you know.