She sits or naps there almost every day. She has other choices she could make. Ten acres to roam, Under the cover of large spreading trees. Maybe the woodshed, Or the old house near by, Empty now and full of nice. The Barn, filled with solitary places in which to slumber or hide. The Garages, an open boat, trucks, several beds there for her use. But she picks the convertible roof on my diminutive Red Car, Like the Little Girl in the "Three Bears Story", it would seem that, that canvas roof is, "Just Right".
Or could it be that my sweet little cat Charlotte, loves that roof because it's mine?