It’s a great day to be on the roof. You coming up?
I don’t know, I say. It’s an awfully long way.
Don’t be a wuss! She says.
Watch it, I say.
But she scrambles up, climbing the tiled slopes and disappears.
What’s it like? I call.
Fan—bloody—tastic!! She says. You should see this.
You can tell me about it later, I say. Write me a poem.
The sun climbs towards its zenith, begins it s long slide towards the sea.
I hear nothing till dinner time when I hear plaintive cries.
I let her stew for a while then go out the back, look up.
She’s near the gutter but doesn’t go any further.
What’s wrong? I say.
Get me down, she whimpers.
What’s wrong? You can get up. You can get down.
It’s an awfully long way, she wails.
Who’s a ‘fraidy cat now?
I’m sorry I called you a ‘wuss’, she says.
I reach up, lift her down. She runs straight to her bowl.
What’s the forecast tomorrow? She asks after she’s finished eating.
Overcast with a chance of showers.
Damn! She meows but sounds almost glad.