On Talking Cats

Why, oh why Percy, must you talk all the time?

I think I much preferred Percy when he didn’t talk at all, which was the past year up until, oh, a few weeks ago.

Now, he talks. Loud. Often. Persistent.

If the past in any guide, tonight, in the early hours of the morning, he’ll again attack the bedroom window from the outside in a desperate quest to wake me. Last night it was barely past three. Allyn doesn’t like to see barely past three. There’s a ledge, you see, one that runs across the front of the house, and the cats will get on the ledge and walk past the bedroom, past the office, and then back up when the realize they can’t go any further.

I’m not one hundred percent certain, but I’m fairly confident that Percy, in his attempt to rouse me to open the door and let him in last night, fell off the ledge and into the shrubbery below. He’s a cat, I’m sure he’s fine.


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