CAT ON A COLD WET ROOF

Cat on a Cold Wet Roof

A domestic drama in two acts.

ACT 1

Setting:  Monday afternoon.  The mister and missus’ backyard.  Riley, the dog, snuffling around in the bushes. Suddenly, he takes off, clearly chasing something.

Narrator:             If dogs have bucket lists, Riley got to check a major item off his this week. He treed a cat.

 Missus:                What is it, Riley? Did you get a chipmunk?

Narrator:             Riley seems to think the world would be better off without chipmunks. Only, it  wasn’t a chipmunk. It was a cat. Riley's nemesis! And now it was clinging to the trunk of a pine tree, with Riley excitedly doing his version of the classic “dog barking at a cat up a tree.”

Missus:                 Oh my goodness. You got a Puss Puss!

Narrator:             Riley’s key word for “there’s a cat!” that makes his ears perk up and his eyes shine bright with the soul of his inner ancient hunter.

Missus:                 Pretty pleased with yourself, aren’t you, pal?

Narrator:             “Definitely, Mom!” He looked as happy as a dog that had treed a cat.

Missus:                 Come on, Riley. I know. You got a cat. You better come inside and let the puss get out of here.

Narrator:             The puss had different ideas —like climbing higher up the tree and parking itself on a large branch. The missus went out to check on it later.

Missus:                 Puss! Really? That high up? How are we going to get you down from there? (In a high pitched, sing song voice) Puss Puss. Come on Puss. Come on Kitty. Come on down.

Narrator:             Puss puss noises had no effect. The afternoon was about to become evening. The missus began to worry. And so she did what anyone would do in this situation. Post to her Facebook status.

Missus:                 Dear Facebook friends. Any advice on how to rescue a cat from a very high tree?

FB Friends:          It will come down on its own.

                                Call the fire department.

                                Leave it be. It knows how to get down.

                                It might be afraid to come down. Try putting a ramp up against the tree.

                                Leave a can of tuna in the garden. It will come down when it’s hungry enough.

                                Call the Humane Society.

Narrator:             Comments mostly trended toward the cat coming down when it was darn good and ready. But just to be extra cautious, the missus set out a can of tuna and made the mister put out a plank from the tree to the porch roof so kitty could just walk on down – call it a cat walk.

Missus:                 Come on down Puss! You can do it! Look! Here’s some nice tuna!

Narrator:             The missus called to the cat at intervals throughout the evening.

Missus:                 Puss Puss! Come on Kitty! See? Tuuuuu-na! Mmmm!

Narrator:             The cat didn’t budge. It just meowed.  A pitiful, help-me kind of meow that tugged at the missus’ heart strings.

Missus:                 Ah, come on cat! Please come down! It’s cold out! And it’s bedtime. Well, ok, then, maybe you’ll come down during the night. (Muttering to herself) Stupid cat. Still, could be worse. Could be raining.

Narrator:             It started to rain. Cold, near freezing drizzle.

Missus:                 Ah, Puss. For heaven’s sake come down.

Puss:                     Mew.

End of Act 1