The Cat's Meow

Solo has decided that since he squandered the first 3 years of his vocal talents that he now has to make up for it by following me around and voicing his considerable opinions on household and political matters, as well as releasing his laments of woe to the sky (ceiling, door, bathtub, window, houseplant, etc) when no one will listen to or converse with him. Saren of course disdains this type of vocalization and only engages herself in the most refined of discourses (to mean only when someone is talking back to her) I have wonderings sometimes as to whether this has anything to do with Solo's latest life pursuit; that of an escape artist. He is quite sly about it, lulling us into a false sense of trust when it comes to windows and outside doors. He has engaged in a torrid passionate affair with our roof (frankly I don't know what he sees in the roof, it has no food nor comfy places to sit, and it is never a pleasant temperature at any time of day). He managed to keep this tryst a secret from us for who knows how long. We discovered this illicit relationship when one day he was no where to found when there was food being placed upon the floor for him. I finally had this horrid thought that perhaps he had finally chased that last fly and flown after it out the window. I raced outside (it was dark of night) calling desperately for him, imaginings in my head of broken limbs and excessive vet bills. There he came, up the back stairs, fine as can be. Instead of heading straight for the open back door, he darts up onto the roof. I admonish him in a loud voice and ponder frantically how I am going to get him off the top of my house. I didn't have to worry. He simply slipped back in through the bathroom skylight (of whom he has been trying penetration of ever since entrance into this house a year ago). Said skylight has since been shut down and closed for business. He has of course found other outlets for his passion for our roof. Those windows are now off limits as well. This has resulted in our house being unbearably hot when we get home in the afternoons (because of course we must keep all the windows closed) and perhaps, just perhaps those woefully cries issuing from Solo towards his beloved roof.