Much to my own annoyance, I have utterly scrambled my sleep schedule. The household juveniles, both human and feline, seem to have determined that it is their job to help me get it back on track by wakening me at 7:00 a.m., and never mind that I’d gone to sleep at 2:00 a.m.
The actual awakening was accomplished by our son. He came into the bedroom to tell me that there was “a ‘mergency”. As I gathered my wits, somewhat impeded by the fact that I know what his concept of an emergency is, he went on.
“Kitten is on the roof again.” That got my attention. It’s not that the kitten is in any particular danger up there. I mean, the front eaves are low enough that I can reach the kitten on a two-step kitchen stool. She really could jump, but she’s a cautious little girl. But my son really does get terribly worried, so I got up, put on shoes (sleeping in sweats does have its benefits, one of them being that you’re automatically decent) and hied myself out the front door to check status.
Note that I did not need to retrieve the step stool because it was already outside from last night’s rescue mission. So I simply stood there and called to her in my best imitation of mama-cat’s “come here this minute” trill-sequence. After a minute I heard a small, subdued little “mew?” from a little above my head. Sure enough, there was Tornado, peering down at me from the eaves and looking entirely woebegone. So ok; I am after all the human she comes to. I put up my hands, she stepped forward, I wrapped them around and pulled her down to snuggle into my arms, and we came into the house as I reflected on the fact that walnut-sized feline brains have a really long learning curve.
And then, as my husband was up to keep our son company, I went back to sleep for another couple of hours, leaving the small black cat to be licked and comforted by her mother.