Come on puss! Puss! Puss! Puss!
How dare he make me come out in this weather to try to coax him in, when he won’t even budge from the other end of the cat run? Having called me out with plaintive crying, our ragdoll cat, Scallywag, is sitting hunched in the slow drizzle, looking sadder than a squashed tick.
“Happy now?” I asked.
But of course, he wasn’t saying anything. Not out loud anyway. Cats don’t talk except in meows. Besides which, Scall saves his meows for food and wanting to go out.
The drizzle starts turning to rain.
Come on Scall, you silly thing. Come inside! I’m not staying out here just to get wet you know. You’ll be soaked through soon, you crazy cat. Now come up the cat run so I can get you in.
Nothing. Scally just looks at me with big blue eyes.
Aaargh! Look Scall, I’ve got things to do. I can’t stand here as your doorman. Just come in for goodness sake.
The rain begins pouring down.
Oh great! Now we’re both getting soaked through. Happy now, you mad beast? I don’t even know why I bother. You’ve made no effort. You’re just sitting up the other end of the cat run looking like a wet rag, and now we’re both sopping.
Abruptly Scally gets up, as if suddenly realizing that it really is raining. Rushing up the trellis tunnel, our rather bedraggled, dripping ragdoll pushes against the exit, softly mewing all the while.
Fumbling to undo the clips, I create a small gap big enough for Scally to slip through. Shooting out and into my arms, Scall looks up at me, both of us drenched, as if to say, “Well, are you happy now?”
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