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I am a horrible horrible person
Feb. 15th, 2012 11:41 pmI'm not normally out of the condo all day; noon to 11 p.m. max, and that's when I'm going over to hang out at M's place nearby, and I don't get all gussied up. The only time I open my closet door, other than to put away laundry, is if I'm going into Boston/Brookline. Pretty much any time I do that, I leave here at 9 a.m. and come back around 7. Always, always, I do a kitty count before I close the door, because Chess and OJ both love to go sit in there when they have the chance.
I left at 9 this morning. When I got out my jumper, I saw Chess sitting on the floor, OJ was eating in the corner of the bedroom, I could hear Butler eating in the dining room. All I can figure is that, in the ten seconds I took my eyes off of Chess to look at OJ, she darted in. I just got home around 11:30 tonight. She did not greet me with the other two. First I figured she was sleeping, but after five minutes, that suspicion set in. I opened the door, and she bounded precisely half a step and stood at the closet threshold, with one bewildered "Mew?", like, "Wait, is this Oz or something? It can't be the bedroom; that doesn't exist."
I'm pretty sure she's less traumatized than I am. She didn't go rushing to her food dish (which is surprising because usually after two hours without food she tends to, in the words of my Worcester vet, "scarf and barf"), didn't rush to the litter pan, had not left any presents on the closet floor. She's meatloafed on the coffee table now, thoroughly at ease if slightly befuddled. I, on the other hand, will likely have a string of kitty-in-danger dreams tonight. As well I should, as penance for not getting on my knees and actually looking at the closet floor before I closed the door.
I left at 9 this morning. When I got out my jumper, I saw Chess sitting on the floor, OJ was eating in the corner of the bedroom, I could hear Butler eating in the dining room. All I can figure is that, in the ten seconds I took my eyes off of Chess to look at OJ, she darted in. I just got home around 11:30 tonight. She did not greet me with the other two. First I figured she was sleeping, but after five minutes, that suspicion set in. I opened the door, and she bounded precisely half a step and stood at the closet threshold, with one bewildered "Mew?", like, "Wait, is this Oz or something? It can't be the bedroom; that doesn't exist."
I'm pretty sure she's less traumatized than I am. She didn't go rushing to her food dish (which is surprising because usually after two hours without food she tends to, in the words of my Worcester vet, "scarf and barf"), didn't rush to the litter pan, had not left any presents on the closet floor. She's meatloafed on the coffee table now, thoroughly at ease if slightly befuddled. I, on the other hand, will likely have a string of kitty-in-danger dreams tonight. As well I should, as penance for not getting on my knees and actually looking at the closet floor before I closed the door.
