Cat on the Wrong Roof

Now, I’ve always said the best family stories aren’t the ones that come from big, planned adventures—they’re the little moments that sneak up on you while you’re just sittin’ around talking. That’s what happened the other weekend up at Lake Tahoe.

My wife’s brother, Steve, and part of his family were in town visiting the lake. Since we live less than an hour away, Steve invited us up to spend a little time with them. Tahoe in summer is one of those postcard-perfect places—pine-scented air, blue water sparkling like a jar of marbles in the sun, and just enough tourists to make you feel like you’re on vacation without having to pay hotel rates.

We found ourselves gathered in the rental cabin’s cozy living room, the kind of place where mismatched couches and a coffee table covered with travel brochures make you feel right at home. Mary was sitting catty-corner from her brother, and pretty soon they got to reminiscing about the good old days.

Now, if you know Mary and Steve, you know they’ve got a shared history of small-town California memories that could fill a book—and about half of those memories involve food. Sure enough, the conversation drifted to Farrell’s Ice Cream Parlor, a legendary spot from their childhood.

You could almost hear the tinny honk of the Farrells’ kazoos and smell the waffle cones just from the way they described it. Steve leaned back in his chair with a grin and said, “Oh yeah, my favorite thing there was the Cat on a Hot Roof Sundae.”

The room got quiet for a beat—just enough time for everyone’s brain to try and make sense of what he’d just said—then it was like someone opened the floodgates of laughter.

Mary shook her head, grinning ear to ear. “Don’t you mean the Tin Roof Sundae?” she asked.

Steve blinked. “No, no, I’m pretty sure it was the Cat on a Hot Roof Sundae.”

That sent the laughter up another notch. “Steve,” Mary said, trying to catch her breath, “Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is the name of a movie. Tennessee Williams. Elizabeth Taylor. Paul Newman.”

Steve gave this slow, squinting look that said he was thinking it over, then shrugged. “Huh. I always thought it was the other way around.”

Without missing a beat, he added, “Well, if it was the Cat on a Hot Roof Sundae, I bet it’d be served by Maggie Pollitt.”

Now, that just about did us all in. I’m not sure if it was the image of Elizabeth Taylor wearing a waitress apron or the way Steve delivered the line with the calm certainty of someone explaining how to fix a lawnmower. We laughed so hard that I thought the cabin might tip off its foundation.

It got me thinking later, maybe Steve was onto something. A Cat on a Hot Roof Sundae could be a hit. Picture this: a scoop of vanilla for the “roof,” drizzled with caramel “sunshine,” maybe some cinnamon heat sprinkled on top for that “hot” effect. You could even add a couple of little chocolate chips in for good measure.

Sure, it might not win a Pulitzer, but it’d draw a crowd.

That’s the thing about family visits—you go in expecting a pleasant afternoon and come out with a story you’ll be telling for years. We didn’t plan on creating a new dessert or rewriting Tennessee Williams, but here we are.

As we left that evening, the sun dipping behind the Sierra Nevada, I could still hear Steve’s voice in my head. And I couldn’t help but smile, thinking how lucky we are to have people in our lives who can take an ordinary conversation about ice cream and turn it into something worth retelling.

Sometimes the sweetest part of the day isn’t the dessert itself—it’s the laughter that comes with it. And if you’re lucky, it’s served up by your own family, no menu required.