Fraidy Cats

Ever had the crap scared out of you? I was reminded of this event in my life by a recent email from a friend.

When I lived in Boulder Creek, my boss would occasionally employ me to cat-sit at her home while she and her husband would go on business trips. It was especially important because one of the kitties required daily medication. Besides, my presence there might discourage thieves, and I watered her extensive garden. It was a pleasure of a job for me: the home was beautiful, with a fabulous view of the San Lorenzo Valley. She had cable and a large TV, and a comfy guest bed.

On this particular assignment, I was warned that the three cats were adjusting to a new kitty addition and tended to have occasional spats. It was my duty to pay attention to where the four of them were in the evening, when all were inside, so as to proactively intervene in the event of an impending brouhaha. No one wants to wrestle an indignant, hissing, clawing, pointy ended, injured cat to the vet in the middle of the night, so I was a willing referee.

One evening, after a long day, I was in the den dozing off in front of the TV. At first, the noise didn't raise any alarms, as it sounded as if it could be part of the action in the show I was watching. Suddenly, I realized I was hearing a four-pronged kitty threat display. You know, that low moaning growl that comes from deep in the cat's chest. You know things are about to erupt when the pitch escalates. The last thing one hears before the cats launch themselves at each other is a high-pitched feline battle cry.

I had failed to notice the noise long enough that the cries were becoming frequent and quite high in pitch. I was desparate not to have my friend come home to a battle zone full of injured feline friends, so I ran for the laundry room to try and halt the impending war.

When I said that my friend's house was beautiful, I should have also mentioned that it was LARGE. In order to get from the den to the laundry room, I had to sprint through the living room, past the kitchen, and down the hallway (a long one), break hard to the right into the hallway leading to the laundry room, then a hard left into the laundry room itself. I was afraid that the length of time it was going to take me to get there was too long and that I would arrive too late to prevent bloodletting.

So, I hollered my own battle cry for my entire sprint. I must have sounded like a cross between a banshee and a primitive warrior, headed intently for the front lines. I didn't notice the kitty threat displays had ended during my headlong dash. As I skidded into the laundry room, I found all four cats huddled about the room in various tiny spaces, eyes HUGE, looking right at me, with all their hair on end. On the floor, in the locations previously held by the angry kitties, were four gently steaming piles of kitty poo. Yes, I had literally scared the crap out of them.

Postscript: I felt so terrible that I had terrified them that I spent the rest of the evening treating them all like royalty. I guess they forgave me, because I was always greeted with affection on all my return visits.