In Which the Tiny Cat Scares the Crap Out of Me

The tiny cat has taken,  lately, to living in my bedroom window, which, for some reason, necessitates jumping up and down eight million times a night in the noisiest manner possible. Late last night, I heard a huge crash from the bedroom and went in to yell at her (let’s be honest), and she was sitting on the floor, bleeding out of her mouth, into a big puddle on the floor.

Her tongue was hanging out in a weird manner.  I put her in the bathtub and stayed with her and petted her and called the Butcher to come home and look at her. But even in the twenty minutes that it took the Butcher to get here, she seemed to perk up and become even a little playful and she put her tongue back in her mouth and so we decided we wouldn’t load her up to take her to the emergency vet, but just kind of keep an eye on her through the night and see how it goes this morning.

So, this morning, she seems fine. I don’t know if maybe she was a little off balance trying to get onto the ledge of the tub or if that was just my imagination, and she was clearly hungry at breakfast–she ate all the wet food, though I didn’t stay in there to check if she also ate some dry. And she seems fine.

I mean, the weird thing is, I feel like if I hadn’t gone in to check on her last night, and say the dog got in there to lick up the blood before I went to bed, there’s literally nothing about her this morning that would even indicate the whole incident took place. So… that’s weird.

Anyway, poor tiny cat.