My cat came home with a bloody gash on her leg.
And I cried.
I bathed her wounds tenderly with saline. She got cross and made angry cat noises.
And I cried.
She ran away to under-the-house and didn't come home for hours.
And I wanted to cry but I'd run out.
Fireworks started banging outside and I thought about how scared she must have been under-the-house. I thought "what if she gets scared and runs out in front of a car".
"What if she gets hit by a rocket?"
"What if a crazy person steals her and puts her in a bag with lit fireworks?"
(It was in the paper)
"What if a crazy person traps her in a wheelie bin?"
(It was on the news)
By 4am she was dead. And lying in the road. And maybe only just alive. But wouldn't make it until morning.
I had to look for her! I had to call the vet! How would I get to the vet's?! Where was the clinic?! Was there such a thing as a feline ambulance?? Why hadn't I learned to drive?!!
Should I wake the neighbors and form a search party?
At 5 am she came and jumped on me and licked my face.
I cried. And she swallowed the salt.
By 6am I had Toxic Shock Syndrome. If I fell asleep I would likely wake up dead.
My skin burned all over. I had a temperature. I was fatally poisoned.
At 6.30am my mum said that No. She didn't think I had Toxic Shock Syndrome. Had I slept?
And by 7am I had abandoned my cat, and crawled into my sister's recently vacated bed.