Nothing gets the adrenalin going like thinking you are going to be responsible for losing the daughter's cat.
So baby M was having trouble sleeping, and J was thinking about going home tonight and just to allow her to sleep on the way, or be mucking about with her here trying to get her to sleep. She finally decided to just stay up with her and let her get her energy out, and I stayed up with her. We had a nice visit, and the end came, and we both headed off to bed. Door shut, covers arranged, snuggled into bed. . . meow.
not a quiet one either, it is demanding. meow.
Reminds me of a commercial
Barbara, are you up? BARBARA. . . are you up?
I'm up now, what do you want?
I can't sleep. This cold is bothering me. etc. etc
meow, Annie, are you up?
I get up, thinking he hasn't been outside for a while, so I venture out the door with a white cat and a white nighty. It's cold out there, and the white kitty sees, hears and smells too many things to want to get down to business. I sit on the raised garden bed walls and wait. Pretty soon he decides to go exploring. I follow.
the shop! Lets look in there.
(me) not on your life Chalk Dust, you come back with me
Chalk Dust transforms into a skill saw which has just been turned on. He lashes out at me when I try to pick him up, and he runs towards Mr. Russell's fence. He sits beside the fence. Maybe he will do his business. I wait. pretty soon I call to him. He moves farther down the fence line. I back off. I wait. Then I say a little prayer, and rush inside to get the canned cat food. I come back out, at first I don't think he is there anymore, but as I get closer, he is still by the fence. It is a crooked picket fence, that if he stands on his hind legs, he can touch the top of the it, and he is ready to jump. I lure him with the scent of tuna, and he becomes a bit more friendly, although I feel him stiffen when I pick him up. He is not light. J says he is around 12 pounds.
We head back to the house, he gets tenser as we near his nemesis, Hobbs. (our cat). I try to calm him as I speed up my pace and get ourselves back in the house. I use my fingers to scoop cat food into his dish, just so I can get him to calm down.
I know he will come back to my door if I try to sleep, so I lock him in the bathroom with his food, water and a towel, bunched on the floor.
He is not happy.
I go to bed again, but the adrenalin is still pumping through the veins.
Trying to calm down and feel sleepy isn't working. As I do, the "what ifs" keep running through my head. I could just picture me, barefoot, not daring to let him out of my sight, as I try to scale the picket fence and follow him to who knows where, across the neighbor's sticker-infested driveway? It gives me the shudders just thinking about it now.
He was the reason for the visit in the first place. He had an abscess that was 2 inches in diameter and an inch high from a cat fight. J took him to a vet, who hedged around on a price and quoted $200, maybe depending on circumstances.
Sailor gave him a kitty tranquilizer left over from when we transported Stanley from Denver to Salt Lake to his new home. Then he took a huge syringe and needle and poked it into his very THICK skin and as he pulled it out, a river of puss and corruption flowed. J and I were holding the front end, the back end was wrapped in a towel and cuddled under Sailor's arm as he operated. Chalk Dust was NOT happy, even though he was a bit sedated, but as soon as all the gunk was out, J felt him purring. Sailor gave him a shot of penicillin in his hind end last night and one again tonight.
It would have been awful if after all that to have him run away. sheesh. I feel so bad.
Now as I sit here, I hear his protests coming from the bathroom. He is NOT happy to be locked in there. But you know what? I don't care. At least he is safe inside the house, and I am not running around the neighborhood in my white nighty and bare feet in the middle of the night in 30 degree weather. YIKES.
OK, now I think I can sleep. I think I will put in earplugs.