One Life Down

Princess Penelope Fancypants is a rescue cat in more than one sense of the word.

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 my her ordeal

I called for her. She didn't come. I began searching the apartment. It's not a big apartment. There aren't that many places she could have been. I looked in all of them. She wasn't there. I woke up the kids by looking in their rooms. And when I couldn't find her in their rooms, I looked in the other, scary places she could have been. The oven. The fridge. The microwave (I know, but it was 3.30am and I was frantic). The drier. No sign of her.

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?

"Penelope?"

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.