Cat vs. Rain

Mr. Cat glares at me.
A soft, gutteral meow
shudders past his lips
and he turns,
furious,
tail lashing.
Nose presses against the glass,
microns away from streams of water
trickling down from the roof.
Rain.
Not to his liking.
Out.
He wanted out.
Happily walked to the door as I opened it
and
spun around, fleeing for his life from
the drizzle outside.
My fault, I guess.
Weather is a concept lost on him.
Out.
When he feels like it.
Day or night.
His right... he assumes.
The rain
doesn’t
care.