My ancient cat was sick this weekend. We were at the cottage, trapped inside because Saturday's weather was atrocious. The biggest shocker was Saturday morning, when I opened my door to go to the washroom and froze dead at the overpowering stench and terrible mess that blocked my path. From what I can tell, my cat realized she was sick and panicked, running through the cottage at breakneck speeds while, er, leaking.
I was NOT impressed.
Not that I didn't feel pity. I did. Self pity. I had some twinges of "Hmm, I wonder if she is okay", but mostly I left it to my family to shower her with love and murmury noises while I stalked through the cottage, gripping a bottle of Fantastik and grumbling every time I found a streak or smear or blob of anything organic.
At dinner, we discussed what options there were to contain the impending overnight disaster. I was in favour of locking her in our bathroom with her litter box & food and containing the aftermath that way. Apparently this makes me heartless for two reasons:
- She would have to sleep on the floor while she was sick. (Sorry, but not only does she sleep on the floor ALL THE TIME and like it, but I slept on the bathroom floor the night I realized I was deathly allergic to avocado and I survived.)
- It's cruel to trap animals in an enclosed space overnight. (Maybe this is true? But if it is, the same applies to toddlers and their cribs and we all do that.)
So after being labelled a bully and soulless animal hater I sat back and watched them build a bed and barricade in the kitchen, where she spent the night.
The next morning she was fine and showed no memory of what she had done the day before. Having lived 23 years, maybe she just can't remember anything from more than three minutes ago.