Maybe the noise will scare the cat off.
Or maybe it’ll piss it off.
I glance down.
Below, the cougar has started climbing the ladder.
“Fuck,” I hiss, because this is worse than I imagined.
So much worse.
I still have my shovel.
It’s the only weapon I have.
I hurl it down at the cougar, the metal spinning end over end.
It clatters past the cat, missing by inches but making a huge racket as it bounces off rungs and hits the ground.
The sudden noise startles the animal.
It jumps, loses its grip and falls back, landing in the snow with a hiss of fury.
But it’s already circling, looking for another approach.
“The ladder!” Sorrel gasps behind me. “Pull it up.”
Fuck yes.
I lean down, gripping the top of the extension ladder, and haul it onto the roof using every ounce of strength I have. The aluminum is heavy as hell and awkward at this angle, but fear makes me stronger.
I drag it up and lay it flat on the slope beside us.
Now the cougar can’t reach us.
But now we’re also trapped.
Stuck on a steep, snow-covered roof with limited supplies and subzero temperatures.
“How long can it stay?” I ask Sorrel over my shoulder.
“I don’t know,” she replies. She’s stopped shoveling. “All day, I suppose. If it’s hungry.”
“We’re not going down until it’s gone,” I tell her.
“No,” she agrees.
I return to the dish. It’s nearly clear. Just a bit more ice around the edges.
I give her a hug, then take the shovel from her and finish the job.
“Has it moved?” I ask when the dish is completely clear.
“No,” she replies. “It’s waiting.”
So we wait, too.
Minute pass, feeling like hours. Meanwhile the cougar paces below, occasionally looking up at us.
