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We have a cottage on an island with long smooth cliffs sloping down towards the sea. Rainwater gathers in potholes in the cliffs down by the beach. There is one especially deep hole that hardly ever dries up. The cats prefer the water in these holes to the fresh drinking water inside. My sister says it's because they want 'wild' water.
When the sun warms the cliffs, the cats love rolling about on them, higher up where there are no puddles. One day this summer, Frank was ecstatically rolling about on the warm ground, and didn't notice where he was going. Yes, you've guessed it, he rolled down into the deep puddle.
Now, I have this theory that cats can fly. When Frank rolled into the puddle, the only way he could have gotten up from it so quickly is by flying. So he flew out of the puddle, sat down on the cliff, and stared at the puddle. Then, carefully, slowly, one paw in front of the other, he went to take a sniff at it. Then he looked at me with a hurt look in his eyes (of course, everything was my fault, and besides, I was laughing at him), then he darted away into the woods. He didn't dare come out on the cliffs any longer that day. Whenever I went in the general direction of the cliffs, he would come and try to stop me by standing in front of me and weaving through my legs.You never know when a dangerous puddle will jump up and attack you!
Editor's note:
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