"Finnegan?"

I'd looked through the house, under chairs, on the bed, Preposition Noun, you name it. No cat.

This was a problem. The cat is a strictly indoor cat, despite his clearly expressed wishes. I had been gone for five hours, so if he had gotten out, he could be pretty far away.

"Finnegan? Gins?"

I was wandering around the yard, call for the cat. Some people would consider this a complete waste of time-- and it would have been, with some cats. But not this cat. This cat comes when he is called, 99% of time.

"Finnegan?"

"Mew."

"Gins?"

"Mew. Mew! Mew."

"Finnegan. Cat. Where are you?"

"Mew mew mew mew mew..."

I looked around. Under the deck? No. Behind a bush? No. Behind me? No. The mews were coming from...

Up?

My eyes followed the sound. There was a cat on the roof. (No, not a hot tin roof. Just a shingle roof.)

"Mew?"

"Hold on, Gins. I'm going to get a ladder."

I ran to the garage, purple bathrobe flapping, grabbed the smaller of the ladders, and rushed back to the house. I snapped the ladder into place, and clambered to the top. Finnegan crouched on the edge of the roof, peering anxiously over the edge. Reaching out to him, I pulled him gently toward me.

"Mew?"

Cat safely cradled in my arms, I reversed down the ladder, brought him inside, and served him a bowl of his favorite food.

Then I put on my dress and shoes, and headed out the door for my interview.

Just your average day.