Last week I was convinced my 19-year-old cat, Wywy, was trying to die. He ate little on Wednesday; Thursday he disappeared and ate nothing, though I put food, water, even milk out. Thursday night I was convinced I would wake up in the morning and find him dead somewhere. I woke up early worrying about it--and there he was sitting in the doorway to my bedroom. But he still wouldn't eat. I discovered his hiding place--a closet where I store extra blankets on the floor. He's burrowed himself a nest. I emailed Jamie, whose cat he once was, and we decided to make him comfortable and assure him he was loved. By Saturday noon I was sure he was on his last legs--he has major health problems--and I geared myself up for the inevitable call to the vet Monday morning. Saturday afternoon, for no reason, he came out of hiding and began to eat voraciiously. He went back to sleeping on my bed, even walking on me when he thought it was time to eat; if I got up in the night, so did he, asking for food. He began to sleep on my bed in the daytime. I'm not sure if this was a fit of pique over the puppy, his way of protesting, or if he perhaps used up one of his nine lives. He did this once before, after he was flea dipped which he considered a huge insult. Today he's still himself, though not eating quite as much. But he sleeps on my bed and greets visitors, so I guess for a while all is well.
Meantime, Sophie the puppy has discovered how to climb out of her playpen. The only place I can confine her is her crate and I hate to do that too much. But this morning when I cooked, this afternoon when I napped, and tonight when I needed some Scooby time, she was crated. She had a high old time when two friends came for dinner and spent much of the evening playing with her, but she's always ready for more. I may grow old before this is over, but we really had a better day today. Our best times are when I work in my office, and she can play or lie at my feet. When she's sure of company, she settles down and lies quietly--so lovely. I hope it's a forerunner of times to come.
Scooby has made no progress in getting used to her and seems to look grayer, but maybe that's the contrast to a black puppy. Or maybe he needs another summer haircut.
More from the animal kingdom later.