Yes, she was an abandoned kitty whom we rescued from the vet. But she also rescued us, and continues to do so, every day.
Earlier this year my husband and I separated. I don't do the whole blogging-through-adversity thing, so all I will say is that it's been rough for everyone, and we are all doing okay.
But last night, things took a shocking turn.
I woke in the middle of the night to a strange sound coming from outside my bedroom window. It was like a woman on drugs singing in an alien language whilst inhaling helium. I live behind a tribe of young men so while the drugs and the helium made sense the female part didn't.
I peered out the window and saw a huge, angry cat. It was either one of the young men transmuted into a feline, or just a huge, angry cat. I went with the latter and banged on the window until the hideous beastie ran away.
And then I realised.
Penelope wasn't in my bed.
Penelope has been sleeping with me since we brought her home. I love nothing more than to feel her soft little body curled up next to me on the pillow. I love nothing less than to have her climb on my face at 6am demanding food, but hey, that's the price that I pay.
But last night, Penelope wasn't in my bed.
|Recovering from |
I felt sick. I couldn't believe it. She had disappeared. I could feel myself plummet into despair. I am resilient. I can cope with whatever life throws at me. But I cannot cope with my kitten disappearing from my apartment. No I cannot.
There is a cat flap that leads to the balcony, and I checked the balcony for the twentieth time. And then my heart lurched. Because the tiny gap in the glass fence, that we had blocked up with a pillow, was no longer blocked up. The pillow had come loose. Penelope must have fallen off the balcony.
I grabbed my coat and ran outside to the little courtyard area directly under the balcony. And I took a deep breath and prepared myself. There could be a dead cat there. And I would have to deal with it. Me. And me alone.
I braced and I looked. There was no cat. Thank god.
But where was she?
And I turned and then I saw her. Cowering in a corner, her tail huge and bushy, her eyes huge and scared. My rescue kitty. She was safe.
I scooped her up and took her inside and cuddled her for about an hour. She didn't purr, her tail didn't return to normal, but I knew she was safe and that she'd be okay.
And today, she is. And so am I.
One life down for Penelope. But she has eight more left. And I have several more, too.