I love autumn. October is my favorite time of year, and all too short.
This heat wears me down.
Yesterday was a long, hot day. I was tired.
Last night I was in bed by 9:30. My two granddaughters playing in "the blue room", with instructions to turn the light off at 10pm.
I went right to sleep, I was exhausted.
I awoke to a huge crash, about 4am.
I sat bolt upright, it was just light enough to see that the screen was out of the window, and Kizzy was on the roof.
He must have been sitting on the bottom of my bed.
Now, Kizzy is a wuss. A big wuss. He is afraid of everything.
He was a 4 month old feral manx kitten when I caught him and brought him inside, and though he is babied and loved and always safe, he is afraid. Always.
If someone drives in the driveway, he hears them before anyone else does, and he is gone like a streak upstairs.
He lives in the loft over the old part of the house. He loves it there.....he and Jinksie have a bed there in front of the south facing window, and there are lots of places to hide out.
He comes downstairs on occasion. He gets brushed and fed and petted. He is VERY gentle.
He is TWENTY SIX pounds of sweetness.
But he is skittish to the nth degree. He is most comfortable around me, and Lois. If anyone else comes in, he's back to his loft. He is beginning to get used to Roy, he doesn't run when he sees him anymore, but he keeps an eye on him all the time. Same with DH. It will take him months and months to be comfortable enough to hang out in the same room.
So......it's 4am, still pretty dark, and Kizzy is running frantically on the porch roof, yowling at the top of his lungs. I am on the roof, trying to get him to come to me, trying not to scare him more. He dashes up to the peak and down the other side. I am frantic. DH is inside trying to keep nosy Sydney from coming out the window to investigate.
Kizzy goes all the way to the very edge of the porch roof, crouching down like he is going to try to jump.
My heart is beating in my chest so loud. I sit down on the roof, and talk to him......tell him it's ok...I don't try to catch him. I just talk and say his name over and over, in a soft voice.
He takes a few steps towards me. Finally I can see that he has changed his mind about jumping, now he just wants to go back in.
He puts his front paws up on a window, a different window, at least he knows he wants to go in there.
He comes close, but not close enough to grab. He goes to the next window.
I wait patiently, thinking that maybe if he goes around on the roof, he will come to the window that is open, the one we came out of.
And eventually, after what seemed like forever, he did exactly that.
He put his paws up on the sill, sniffed, and jumped back in.
I was so pumped up, I knew I couldn't sleep, so I went downstairs and decided to just chill on the couch. Ten minutes later, who should jump up there with me, even with Roy in the room, in the chair.
Yup, Kizzy. He rubbed up against me, and purred. He looked up at me, and I swear, if he could talk, he would have said,
"Wow, what the ***** was up with THAT?"