As a general rule, I’m fairly convinced that my Mistress Myrtle will outlive me.  I generally assume she may actually have a direct paw in my demise.

So, there’s that to look forward to.

I joke…she’s clearly not at all homicidal.

Such a sweetheart, through and through….nothing psycatic here at all, hoomans.

Ok, honestly, she may have issues expressing her affection in a healthy – or at least non-lethal manner.  But I’m told that’s common with cats of her ilk, Tortoiseshell Tabbies.  

Cat folk call it tortitude.

After you sign the adoption paperwork.

Honestly, though, there’s a legit case to be made that she’s just a misunderstood, playful house cat.  She hasn’t sent me to the ER in over a year now.  She has successfully modified her playful stalking and ankle strikes to near misses.

I’m fairly sure that was an intentional effort.

I’ve written about how she likes to cuddle in my lap while I watch TV with my legs stretched out on the couch these days.  And how she sleeps in between my legs at night as my legs are crossed into a figure 4 under the covers…

So, I feel as if there’s hope that we successfully co-habitate for many years to come.

Except…

She never came back to bed with me after my mid-night trip to the bathroom last night.  When I woke up, she was on her beanbag ottoman perch, her second favorite piece of furniture after yours truly.  It was hot last night, so I slept with the covers mostly off and I chalked it up to that.

Until I found the protest poop outside her litter box this morning. That, I chalked up to the out of cycle litter change I’d done prior to coming to my parents for the weekend.

Strange, but not out of the realm of tortitude behavior.

But then she didn’t complain when I skipped her breakfast kibble.  She does like her feeding routine.  But without The Fox – also away for the weekend…not with me – there wasn’t going to be anyone to give her her Friday or Saturday wet dinner.  Usually, I’ll give her her wet dinner on my travel day before I leave, so it’s a little early.  She goes right to it and goes PacMan on it, which I’ve learned results in me finding an instance of uneating has occurred when I return home if her little cat belly is already full of breakfast kibble or snacks.  So, I try to feed sparingly before departing on any trips.

And, I feel guilty on those rare occasions where I’m gone two nights with no one to check on her.

Despite reassurances from other cat people that it’s fine…

I’m neurotic, what can I say?

That said, I mistook her glares from her beanbag perch this morning and afternoon as admonishments for withholding food.

Until…I cracked open her wet dinner at 2:00 and she didn’t come running.  It was something I assumed went unheard because the patio door was open so she could go in and out to the balcony while I was gone.

I went and picked her up to take her to her food bowl, since this was her favorite flavor of wet dinner and it was gonna be a hot weekend, so it would dry out quickly.

She meowed her protest at being moved and then showed little interest in her favorite din-din.

I started to get a little worried, but thought maybe the heat was messing with her so I closed the patio door and turned on the AC.  She’d miss going outside and menacing birds that knew better than to land on our balcony, but I didn’t like her lethargy.

After a while, she showed a little perk and had nibbled on her wet food, so I got out her favorite – and I mean this in the same manner I do when I talk about her favorite treat…only – toy:  the laser pointer.

A few tail twitches and some pursuit with her eyes, but she sat still.  Normally, she loses her shit and becomes a complete spaz…and she knows it’s me controlling it!  I really can’t figure out why she’s so gaga over this if she knows it’s a fake.

Oh, well.

Except, now I was getting a little worried.  Naturally, I was leaving in about a half hour.  I told myself that she had improved in the half hour since I turned the AC on and expected that she was just a little overheated and that I’d come home to an attention starved companion on Sunday, momentarily overlooking the mayhem she had caused while I was absent.

But as I lay here in bed at 1:30 in the morning – three hours after first trying to sleep – my neurotic brain won’t stop worrying that my Mistress Myrtle is sick.  I’m stuck in a worst case scenario loop and can’t get out. My favorite crazy theory is that one of the moths she tortured earlier this week gave her some delayed onset illness.

Regardless, even if I’m welcomed home with a visit to kitty ER, I just want:

A) That to be the worst of it, so I can feel guilty forever; and,

B) For my stupid brain to shut up so I can sleep.  

Also, I obviously need a kitty-cam…someone hook me up.