It was a dark, dark day in our house. Terrible. Awful. The cat meowed pitifully, wailing at me every time I came upstairs. She nearly woke the Little Person up (which takes some doing). Persistently. Insistently. Her little feline heart was broken. Dark days, and trouble times loomed. I could sense it in the way her whiskers quivered.
We had lost the cat toy. The one that she takes great delight in chasing every night. The stick with the string and the ball with feathery bits on the end. Vanished without a trace. We searched high and low. I confess, I eventually blamed the cleaner.
Only, it wasn’t the cleaner. It was me. I had accidentally picked it up with some dirty washing and put it in the washing machine. Fortunately, I discovered it before it went in the dryer.
So what’s worse than a cat toy that’s been lost? A cat toy that’s been washed, that’s what (apart from, you know, world poverty, war, human trafficking and a million other things). How do I know?
Hackles. And a puffed up tail. And prancing around on her tiptoes. She looked ridiculous. She looked more upset than that time I took her to the vet. And she hasn’t been running around asking for her toy since.
But then, maybe that’s a good thing. 🙂