Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens
Reproduced below is one of our standard rainy-day conversations, with Caspar's side of the argument freely translated from the feline:
Caspar: "Oh, great. You're up. (Finally!!) Excellent. I'd like to go out now, please. If it's no trouble."
Me: "Okaaaay. Can I just check? You have realised that it's raining, haven't you?"
"Raining, yes. Check."
"So you're not going to go out for approximately fifteen seconds and then demand to be let back in in a voice resembling the wail of a more than ordinarily distressed banshee, then?"
"Heavens, no. I am hurt that you should even suggest such a thing. I'll have you know I won merit badges for being Hardiest Kitten of the Litter. And that my voice is melodic and sweet at all times."
"I see. So, if I let you out now, you will do whatever it is you've gone out to do, and then sit patiently and quietly on the doormat until I am next near the back door? Like Bertie does?"
"That is correct, yes. (That ridiculous, overgrown kitten will not steal the moral high ground from me)."
"Well, alright then."
A few seconds later...
"Help! Help! It's RAINING out here! Why wasn't I told? Is this thing on? Hello? Hello?? Can anyone hear me? For God's sake let me in out of this terrible downpour. Whaddaya mean, it's just drizzle? DRIZZLE?? You're not the one whose fur is getting wet! Let me in! LET ME IN, DAMMIT!! Oh, please let me in. Pretty please. I'll be ever so cute. I promise not to leave muddy paw prints on the duvet. This time. Oh, go on. Go on, go on, go on, go on, go on. Feck. Arse. I'm about to complain to the RSPCA. I'll do it. I will. Don't think I won't. Let me in, you b ... oh, there you are. Thank you, I think I will come in, yes. Very kind of you to offer."
(Bertie, meanwhile, is too busy playing with snails to have even noticed that it is raining.)