Bessie isn’t dead, but I think she came pretty close to dying in the last few days — right under my nose. Actually, right under my bed.
The sad and confused cat you see on the right isn’t some stray I just found. She’s one of my own cats. Here’s what she normally looks like. Thursday evening, she looked nothing like the beautiful young cat she is. She seemed like a dehydrated and emaciated little girl who was dying.
As many of you know, I’m a sucker for homeless animals, so I have a houseful of “fur people.” (I have another purring cat in my lap as I write this.) So there are enough of them running around as though they own the place — which they do — that I sometimes don’t pay attention if I haven’t noticed one of them for a couple of days.
Bessie was one of a couple of sisters who I took in about four years ago. Neither ended up being adoptable, so I kept them. (Here’s Bessie’s story from last year, and here’s the story of her sister, Molly.) They were feral, and they still have a lot of fear in them. They rarely even let me touch them, which is why it didn’t seem odd when I didn’t see Bessie for a couple of days.
I had realized vaguely that I hadn’t seen her for days, but I didn’t worry about it. By Wednesday night, I was concerned enough to at least search for her. When I saw her looking back at me from under the bed, though, I wasn’t concerned. I figured she was just hiding again.
Chance encounter with woman leaves me grateful for my health
I keep forgetting that I can’t save those who don’t want to be saved
Loss of cultural consensus means violent conflict in decades ahead
Sharing ridiculous things we enjoy is a special part of love
My political lens makes me think you’re crazy — and vice versa
Kind words can make difference for stressed parents at Christmas
Reconciliation can start with the courage to make one phone call
I’ve lost all interest in begging anyone to fix the political system
Pursuit of perfection leaves me feeling shame when I’m flawed