One of my cats scared the CRAP out of me this morning.
Ever since my other cat had a seizure...
One of my cats scared the CRAP out of me this morning.
Ever since my other cat had a seizure earlier this year, I’ve been pretty paranoid. So when I get up this morning, what do I see? The cupboard under the sink (where we keep, y’know, dishwasher detergent…stuff that kitties probably shouldn’t be getting into) is open. They’ve never opened it before. After making sure there are no kitties in there at the moment, I go to the bathroom, where our bathroom cabinet is also open. Probably some not-good-for-kitties stuff in there, too, but again, they’ve never opened it before. And of course I’m alone in the house with the cats and no one to temper my paranoia with sweet reason.
So now I’m on a kitty-hunt. I find one (the one who had the seizure) pretty quickly, or rather he finds me.
When I find the other, she’s curled up in the porch. She doesn’t move. I call her name. She barely twitches. I poke her. She blinks at me, very slowly and apathetically. I grab her, and she’s just sort of limp in my arms. I’m going “AHHSHEGOTINTOSOMETHINGSHE’SGONNADIEICAN’TAFFORDVETBILLS!" So I put her down to see what she’ll do. She sort of toddles off, but I’m still not convinced. But then, inspiration strikes. There is one foolproof method of making sure she’s ok.
This cat is terrified of brushes. They make her go absolutely ballistic. Any sort of brush—paint brushes, hair brushes—as long as they have natural fibre bristles. So I grab my brush and lunge at her with it. And yes, she’s totally fine, and skitters away like the spaz she is. And then I’m feeling pretty bad about picking her up from her nap, dumping her on the floor, and threatening her with a brush, so I try to call her over. But she still thinks I have the Evil Doom Brush, so she just hides under the table.
