When it rains/snows/storms.
Rain.
Cat can hear the joyous whooping where Kara has left the skylight open. There’s water pooling on the floor, so she throws a towel and pulls the glass shut. By the time she strips off her coat and kicks off her heels, Kara’s revelry has descended to the balcony outside the bedroom; apparently she took the closing window as the intended hint.
“Sorry,” Kara yells through the lashing rain as Cat slides the door open, drink in hand. “But it never rained on Krypton. Not like this.”
“It doesn’t rain like this in California,” Cat remarks, sipping at her Scotch. “We should probably do something about this global warming.”
M. Supercat please!
Published
Question of Smoke 