“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?” John asked.
“It’s a kitty, but where is it?”
We looked low, and we looked high and spotted a kitty–high in a tree. In fact, higher than the roof line of our house.
“John, get the ladder,” I said.
“She’ll come down on her own. She’s not even our cat.”
“Please get the ladder.” I repeated.
John held the ladder, and I climbed. A couple of feet over the roof line of the house, my natural fear of heights overrode my desire to rescue the kitty. Later that night I was just entering sleepy land when John looked outside.
“The kitty has come down a ways. You could probably reach her now,” he said.
I pulled my heavy, winter coat on over my pajamas—hoping for a softer landing if needed. This time I was about six feet from the kitty before I looked down. Gripping each ladder rung tightly, I backed down. To my surprise the kitty followed me down the ladder.
Little Kitty seems happy here with us. She especially enjoys her regular saucers of milk and climbing trees. John and I are hopeful she will soon learn to climb down trees–without a ladder.