Hunting the Fairy Tale

Chapter 21 - Hunting Rover

Willow

I try to see if there's a ladder or steps of some sort that can help me get onto the roof. Dusk has come and gone and there isn't an abundance of light in this part of the front garden. The only sources of light are coming from some of the windows and a streetlamp on the sidewalk.

I now understand why Hunter had been on the protruding roof of the study the other day. He'd been visiting his cat. I cannot see how he managed to get up there, though. I only saw him coming down from it. I came to this area because I thought there might be an easy way up from here.

Perhaps he'd used a ladder and then returned it to the garage. I turn to go in search of one and almost walk into him. When I hurriedly jump back, he steadies me with one hand, his other hand holding a bowl of what appears to be pet food.

"What are you doing?"

"Trying to find your cat."

The news seems to surprise him. "She's right there," he says, looking up. "Rover!" he shouts, and almost immediately, I hear an answering meow. There's some movement, but the gloom is too thick up there to know what I'm looking at.

I've never heard anybody call their cat that way before and actually receive an answer. Paisley called her repeatedly earlier, but there'd been no answer then or we simply didn't hear it all the way in the house. I always believed that cats don't respond to their names.

I've never had a cat of my own. My grandmother had a strong dislike of the creatures. Perhaps because they always seem independent and are not easy to intimidate. Well, Grandmother would be delighted to know that her squeaky little powder puff is intimidating a cat.

"Doesn't one usually go ksss, ksss, ksss, to call a cat?" I ask what I think is a logical question, but Hunter just looks at me as if he suspects that I might be high. Apparently, Rover is too cool for kitty talk... or maybe Hunter is.

"Wait here," he instructs, pushing the bowl into my hands. He turns, steps on the windowsill, jumps and grabs the wrought iron running trim decorating the edge of the roof. He finally pulls himself up as if it is the easiest thing in the world. I blink, surprised. There's no way I'll get onto the roof using that technique.

Wait here? Very funny. As if I could possibly follow.

Seconds later he's back wearing a grey and ginger tiger as if she were a scarf, leaving his hands free to reverse his agile exercises and land next to me.

"Meet Rover," he says, stroking the big head nestling into his neck. The cat is too big to really be just a domestic animal. She's peering at me with large yellow-green eyes, her fluffy tail swishing lazily in front of Hunter's chest.

From all appearances, this might be her favourite carrying position. She certainly seems to be at home draped around his shoulders. She's purring rather loudly, rubbing her head against her human's cheek.

"She is beautiful!" I exclaim delightedly. I start to reach toward the cat with one hand, then pull it back hastily. She could possibly bite off my entire arm if she wanted to.

"Go ahead," Hunter encourages. "She looks like a big, fat monster, but she's very gentle."

"That might be true, but my hands are covered with Piddles."

"You peed on your hands?" he frowns.

I laugh, shaking my head at him. "No! The internet said to give them each other's scent, so I got a lot of Little-Piddle's scent on my hands. If she hates Piddles, she might try to kill my hand."

I was not expecting such a large animal when I set out on this plan of acquainting our pets with each other. I'm feeling a little intimidated.

"Worst she'll do right now is escape back to the roof. Rover won't even harm a fly... unless it flies into her mouth and then she'll just swallow it because she's a glutton. She doesn't hate Piddles, she's just not used to his noise yet, she'll get there. It will be fine eventually."