Ridge

What I want you to look at here is that ridge. The one with the slightly different coloured tiles. It's about 4 metres from the terrace. And that slope is quite steep, not as steep as the one to the right but steep enough.

That's where I saw Moot last night. Just before the World Cup Final, we had a "where's Moot?" moment. A lot of hunting followed -including me going down to the cellar just in case he'd managed to follow me down there when I went to get beers. I came back up and G was white as a sheet. She said "Dach" and I thought "Noooooo". Dach is the German word for Roof. And there he was, sitting and crying, some 25 metres off the ground. And then doing that thing where he reaches out like he's testing whether he can walk on the slippery tiles and I'm wondering what the hell I can do and and wishing that he'd stop being stupid and go back the way he came.

We came in and looked for something that we might use to make a bridge. And when we went back out, he was gone. No noise. No cat.

I ran inside, grabbed my keys and flew downstairs - all the while thinking "don't let me find him outside, don't let me find him outside". I opened the back door with my heart in my mouth. Not there. Nowhere to be seen.

Run back up the stairs - and I just don't do running - and into the flat. And there he is. In the living room. Sitting. <enormous-shudder-of-relief-from-me-and-feeling-sick-at-the-same-time>

And now, all he wants to do is get out and back on to the roof. And I want him fitted with a parachute.