The Pippi Report

The rain blows in on the backside of our house, so when yesterday’s downpour began I went upstairs to close the door to the upper deck that we often leave propped open. I did a quick check for cats, battened down the hatches, and went back downstairs to make coffee and enjoy the thunderstorm.

A few minutes later, Lance heard the most pitiful wailing upstairs, and sure enough, Pippi had somehow managed to remain hidden out on the deck and was sodden and miserable, crying to be let in. Lance let her in and tried to dry her off some, but she darted under our bed and angrily refused to come out.

Now she’s telling everyone she’s a “rescue kitty.”

I said, Pippi, you silly pampered cat, you are emphatically not a rescue. And besides, your sister goes up and down to that deck all the time using the witch hazel tree. You could have gone down and come in your own cat door.

But she said she’s already setting up a Go Fund Me.