Climbing is quite a respectable pastime for a cat. It’s quite a dignified pursuit, and one which enables me to achieve a sense of superiority. I can do superior from ground level but humans have to look down to see me doing my best ‘superior’. Climb something however, capture their attention at their eye level and suddenly they are paying attention.
Even better is looking down – down from the garage roof, down from the fence, down from the cherry tree – even down from the top of the car if I have to.
One morning I tried for the highest point of my domain, the top of the house. It’s not curiosity I tell you. Human teenagers do it and no one asserted either that its curiosity or that it will kill them. OK it might kill them; I’ve heard them so you must have …..’bet you can’t ……’ put your own ending on there but make it something you think is really stupid and bound to hurt if it goes wrong. Cats and teenagers don’t understand that kind of stupid and both cats and teenagers believe they’ll land on their feet (only one of us is right though).
Insults shouted by squirrels from the apex of the roof have a way of sounding like ….’bet you can’t…’. Well I can. It’s quite a steep roof with a sharp fold along the middle. There’s a sharp point at the front and one at the back immediately over the door. While I was sitting right on that point, that apex, Mr B came out and announced breakfast. He knew I was up there, he must have. I knew I was up there, but he only looked in the garage, out on the drive and under the picnic table. Actually it was quite novel watching him scurrying about down there. He went for a shower. I could hear him in the upstairs bathroom. By this stage I started feeling a bit hungry so I started doing some shouting of my own. Mr B came out again. I watched him look around. He went in. I shouted. He came out and looked around, checked the neighbour’s trees and the front of the house and went back in again. What in heaven’s name is wrong with him? More shouting. More ineffective wandering around.
There’s clearly something wrong with human ears. Next thing I see him dragging a ladder round to the back of the garage – the garage for goodness sake. That’s only the foothills, a base camp. I’m on Everest. I’m not getting down from here until he’s seen me. “Look up you silly blighter, look up! What do you think I’ve been shouting at you for all this time?”
His head appears over the back of the garage and I’m tempted to wave. And finally he lifts his eyes. At last! Recognition!
He had to stand on the van and make a bridge across to the guttering with his arms before I deigned to descend. Maintain dignity at all times. I was not, NOT, stuck on the roof.
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