Rescue missions

I am sitting in the livingroom. Yesterday, the tail end of Cyclone Wilma blew through; today there is glorious sun. The house smells of the cleaner that I have used to mop up a puddle of cat wee, when Tigra elected not to go outdoors in yesterday’s rain, and not to use the cat box, either.

I hear “meee, meee meeee.” I call Tigra, as it’s her meow, and Tigra isn’t usually a talky cat. Usually it just means “I cannot find my human and I want her, where is my Mahal?”

“meee. Meeeee!”

“Tigra?”

“… meee. meeeeeeee mee?”

I get up, go into the courtyard. She is stranded, because she’s climbed up the trellis, gotten into the jasmine, and can’t work out how to get down. Silly pudden wants me to rescue her.

That’s the second time this week.

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