When you regard a mother of five healthy, bright, engaging children, ages ranging from 28 to 13, you might imagine that this person certainly can manage the care and feeding of someone’s beloved fur-baby…
especially a cat, because, it’s a cat.
Cats do what they want, where they want. Your job is to keep the food bowl full, the litter box clean, share your lap and, if they so decide, offer a little bit of affection…not too much though…they’re not needy, pet-me-all-the-time dogs.
This can’t be hard.
True, Albert is comfortable enough under The Big Top now to TAKE OVER our bed; but he is also relaxed enough to open doors and possibly turning on the water in the kids’ bathroom and letting it run for at least an hour or more during the night…severe California drought and family circus water conservation efforts be damned. Don’t argue with the whole he has no opposable thumbs thing because he can literally open doors!
Still he seems to be settled. He even let me pet him…once…and he is quite happy to curl up next to me when I am sleeping during the day when I am Vampira, the Night Shift Nurse. Yes, Zelda is curled up on the other side and I am waaay over-heated.
Even Zelda has settled into a playfully antagonistic almost sibling-like relationship with him…or perhaps younger auntie/older nephew relationship which seems awfully familiar as I recall my first born and my youngest sister’s relationship as they grew up. At least Zelda and Albert haven’t drawn blood…yet.
That doesn’t mean that there has not been blood.
Being the nurturing pet-sitter that I am, I gifted Albert with a lovely collar He wears it well and I can hear him when he stalks me. Zoë warns me that it won’t last.
Of course I don’t listen or ask why.
I’m having fun pet sitting.
Easter Sunday evening came the blood. Albert decided that he had had enough with the fancy blue collar with the bell and tried to take it off getting it stuck partly in his mouth and choking him. Such a bloody mess…and a very angry, scared cat.
Naturally the 24 hour pet hospital is closed because it is Easter Sunday and this is my family and we only do things like this over holidays, vacations and out of town travel.
So Bill and I corral the frightened, angry, choking, bleeding cat, remove the collar and try to clean away the blood to figure out just how badly hurt he is and if he needs to see a vet. After a time, the blood is washed away revealing a cut nose and a lop-sided, swollen mouth…and a very angry cat piercing us with his Zoë warned you angry eyes!
Yes, she did.
This girl. This cat. This girl’s cat. This girl’s cat just might be the death of me. Thank goodness he is okay because he is this girl’s everything. Of course he makes no apology because he is a cat…and an asshole.
No one ever ask me to pet sit.