Firstly, I must apologise for not catablogging more often. When I hired my personal assistant, she didn’t disclose that she had a full-time job, also volunteered for Romance Writers of Australia, and did this silly little form once a month for the tax office. I thought she was going to be my personal slave 24/7. Instead, she locks me in the house during the day while she goes to the evil day job, and I gaze whistfully out the window, looking at all the stuff I could be doing. So just to mess with her mind, I rearrange things while she’s out. Move her jewellery around, pull her shoes out of the bedroom, even managed to wrap her velvet bag around my water bowl one day. I’d move the furniture if I could just to really mess her around, but it’s too heavy.
I’ve tried to learn to type but the keys are just too small for my paws, so I have to wait until SHE has the time (and she’s always protesting that she doesn’t have the time, but I’ve seen her fart-arsing about on Fartbook) before my very intelligent thoughts can be transcribed to the blog for your edification.
As I said, I get a bit crazy during the week locked inside all day. My jail is specifically torturous. It has these huge windows on both sides, so I can see exactly what I’m missing out on, and the weather has been so beautiful lately. But I do get reprieve on the weekends, when she puts me in my embarrassing baby-pink harness attached to the washing basket and lets me outside.
I haven’t been letting on too much that I know how to get that darn thing off. The couple of occasions that I’ve demonstrated it, I’ve made it seem like an accident or just a consqeuence of sheer brute force or panic. It’s quite easy to run out of it when the dog next door decides to run over here and harass me.
So last weekend, she was complacent and she went inside while I was tethered to the washing basket again. Once I heard the water pump going, I knew I had some time to make my escape.
When she came back out, all dressed for the day, the washing basket and the limp harness was sitting on the ground, and I was nowhere in sight. She started calling me, and walking around the yard, looking under the ferns. She didn’t think to look up. I was in the tree, looking down, watching the fun. She disappeared for a while – I think she’d gone out the back to look for me, and I could hear her talking to the landlady about me. Hehe, looked like I’d be up here for a while. I’d always admired this particular tree, and she’d never let me climb it. I was up to the challenge.
She came out to the front of the house again and then she looked up and spotted me. Perhaps I’d inadvertenly given my position away by meowing just a little. I’ve got used to answering her when she calls out ‘Qwerty’. So then she’s calling me, trying to persuade me to come down. Are you kidding? I’ve got this far…and there’s lots more tree to climb. It looks like it might be The Magic Faraway Tree, the one I read about in one of her books. Mmm, I wonder where that branch goes. So she kept calling, and I kept climbing…and climbing and climbing and climbing.
I climbed right up past the balcony of the house, where Val was, up, up, up, high above the roof. Damn, I’d miscalculated. I thought I could jump from the tree to the roof, but once I’d got up there I realised it was too far away. Too far to jump. Then I heard mum calling again. I looked down. She was so far down, she looked tiny, and I realised just how high I was. For cat’s sake. How am I going to get back down there? I started meowing back to mum, freaking out, telling her to come and get me.
Mum was telling me I’d got up there so I just had to work out how to get myself back down, but it seemed so much easier going up. Did she see the gradient on those branches. One claw out of place and I’d be turning into Flat Cat. But then Val back went inside, and indeed it seemed the only way I was going to get back down to the ground was to make my own way down there. I didn’t hear any fire engine sirens or any indication that she’d called emergency services to rescue me. She kept saying I could do it and to come down slowly, so I figured if I wriggled around on this top branch any longer, I could lose my grip and I’d rather go down slow than fast. Very carefully I edged my way down the branch while mum encouraged me.
My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it and hear it. When I was halfway down the tree, I paused and took a rest, and looked back to see how far I’d come. I was relieved to be sitting on this branch where the ground and my mum were a lot closer.
Mum kept talking to me, and finally I made my way down to the fork of the tree where Mum was waiting. I was very proud that I’d managed to climb Mt Treetop by myself, and even more proud that I’d got back to the bottom again.
And mum was just as happy that I’d made it down and gave me a big cuddle.
Later that afternoon, she brought me outside again tethered to the washing basket, while she got the washing off the line. When she had her back turned, I dragged the washing basket over to the tree and started climbing. She laughed when she saw me in the fork of the tree, with the washing basket dangling behind me and grabbed me before I could climb any further. Strangely enough, it’s noon now, and she still hasn’t let me outside. Guess she knows what I’m capable of now. No washing basket is going to stop me!