Pity Party for Putty

One morning, I again awaken to find Trinket has not warmed my bed all night. I am usually aware of her comings and goings during the night and I recall that in the wee hours, she had gotten up from where she was nestled in the crook of my knee and had jumped off the bed, squeezed through the door (being held open and therefore not squashing her tail by a dark green gardening clog) and pranced out into the night to do whatever it is house cats do all night while we sleep.

I assumed a mouse was at hand. Or at paw.

It is her custom to come running as soon as my feet hit the floor. She meows for breakfast (in the form of thinly carved deli turkey) or water, or tries to join me in the shower or waits impatiently outside the bathroom for me occasionally reaching a long arm and paw under the door to see if she can catch a nail on me while I brush my teeth. But in any case, she is attentive and meowy.

But not today.

I tiptoe down the steps to see what horrors await me. A cat and mouse chase in progress? A dead thing or two? Mice in shreds on the carpet? A skinny little tail hanging from Trinket’s mouth? It’s anyone’s guess.

But when I get to the foyer, Trinket is sitting squarely and neatly and rather rigidly on her little catnip filled scratchy pad designed to file her nails and deter her from scratching at other things, like draperies.

She does not move toward me at all. Follows me with her eyes.

“Hi, Puss!” I say brightly. “Want some turkey?”

Just the words usually send her into fits of affection but she stays put for a moment, and then only walks a few steps to settle into the same position on the carpet a few feet away.

I get out the turkey and make a production out of tearing into bite sized pieces for her. The sound of the paper can usually attract her all the way from the attic. She doesn’t move.

I take a little niblet of turkey over to her. She sniffs it but does not eat it.

I am a little baffled and wonder if she is full from a smorgasbord of tiny gray mice. Eeeew.

I make coffee and then turn to look at her. She has moved to a soft chair in the dining room in silence and assumed the same little rigid posture she’s had all morning. I pick her up to take her upstairs with me. I am worried for her and don’t want to let her out of my sight.(OK maybe for a moment while I am putting on mascara)

She moans a little.

Uh-oh.

I take her little plush pink bed from the window sill and place a heating pad under it. Turn it on low. Settle her in. I run my hand across her ears and down her little body. She moans a little again.

I do it again. She gently tries to bite me.

I am more worried than when my kids are sick. I am not sure why. Maybe because cats don’t fake it to avoid a geography quiz?

I fill her water glasses and bring one to her. I prepare for work worried that I should not be leaving her. I kiss her goodbye and tell her I love her. I start my car and call Scott.