Cat on a hot tin roof

Long ago, when the kids were young, we used to beg for Five Minutes of Peace (after a book called Five Minutes' Peace, where a mother elephant pleads with her offspring for 5 minutes peace, which of course is not to be had, even in the bathtub) in the hope of finishing some task (the dishes, grading, a piece of writing).  This summer neither Crash nor The Egg are home during the days — or even most nights.  (Crash has gone to Montana to work with Shakespeare in the Parks; the Egg is working technical theater at a local program for teenagers and young adults — double shifts for three weeks!).  So you would think I could write uninterrupted.

As if.  Fluffy misses all the activity, and so has taken to being within five feet of me when she is in the house.  Sleeping on my desk. Sitting on my keyboard.  Stalking my mouse and the cables.  Deciding to help me cook.  Pet me.  Fill my bowl.  Let me out to sun on the front porch. I left something messy in the backyard, could you clean up the remains?  Toddlers have nothing on cats.

Just in case I was getting sentimental about the children being grown and for the most part no longer living at home, Fluffy decided to remind me of one of the rituals of summer.  Young Crash was from the start an excellent sleeper, though pretty much light activated, which meant in the summer he woke with the dawn, greeting his bleary parents with chipper conversation.  This morning, at 5:27 am, the cat (out for the night protecting us from errant rodents and other things that go bump in the night) climbed onto the roof outside our window and meowed stridently.  I went downstairs to let her in.  No dice, she knows the screen comes off.

So there I am, at half past five in the morning, trying without my glasses to snap the screen back in.  While the cat stands on the sill.  I put her down (without dropping the screen onto the lawn!), turn back.  She jumps up.  Math Man wakes up.  "Can  I help?" "Can you move the cat?"  He does. She comes back.  I finally get the screen in.  Fluffy curls up on the floor, within her five foot radius, purrs loudly and goes to sleep.  She got up long enough to have breakfast, and is now totally snoozed out behind my screen.  Dreaming no doubt of mice and staff who are more cordial when asked to let her in at dawn.

I must say, I now have about 5 hours of peace!

And the roof is shingles, not tin, and at 5 am, not very hot.  I, on the other hand....