doghouse

When I step out to the mailbox, I spot the old lady in the second empire across the street struggling at the window in the fourth floor tower. 

Hold on, Mrs McMasterson! I shout, jogging across the street. She doesn’t hear. No matter. I sprint up the path and shove through the front door.

In the front room I am surprised to find some family, but they’re not alarmed when I tell them their granny is going to fall out the window. I go upstairs where she’s on a chair hanging half out the dormer. She’s gotten the sleeve of her blouse caught on the flashing. I gingerly clamber over her and out unto the narrow roofpan. After a moment clinging to the cornice with one hand, I free her wrist before collapsing against the mansard.

Thank you young man, she coos, hopping to the window ledge and diving out.