Frankie doesn’t move much. She has a spot where she stays all the time. If you walk into our house, there’s a 99.98% chance that she is there, peering at you between the railings from her plush bed. Sometimes we try to startle her away with loud noises (just for fun). She really, really likes her spot.
Today they are shingling our roof. And, as promised, it’s noisy. First they have to remove the old shingles. And before that, because it’s January in Canada, they have to remove a few inches of ice and some snow. Sometimes it sounds like they are going to come crashing through the roof. They are obviously dropping large slabs of shingles (or maybe they are doing body-slams of each other) onto the roof above our heads.
I thought all this hub-bub would annoy Frankie. But she’s sitting serenely in her bed from her perch at the top of the stairs, where she is all-seeing. I hardly think she knows anything is up.
Last night, on the other hand, my friend Amy visited with her husband her four-month old daughter. Just as they were leaving, Mona got a bit fussy as she was being strapped into her car seat. We said a hurried good-bye – hugs and handshakes while Mona softly wimpered beneath her blanket. As we shut the door, we turned to say a good-night to OUR little bundle of joy, and she had disappeared.
“Frankie!” we called. And she replied from the far corner under our bed. This is a haven which she has only sought one other time, and that time there was a dog in the house.
I’m a dog person.
Some days I would mistake my husband for a cat person.Our cat is not a baby person.