My Scariest Halloween...

I’d considered attempting to suck the snot out of my congested kitty’s face with a toddler’s aspirator, but despite her subtle disguise as a mild-mannered domesticated companion I had no assurances that I wouldn’t wind up clawed to death in horrific disfigurement and left to bleed out on the carpet…  

Los Angeles had been cleansed by rain for a week, blown free of smog with high winds, and with what I can only describe as observing my beloved city in High-Def outside the window, my heroic feline sidekick Pretty and I wheezed, snorted and took turns wiping gunk out of our eyes.

“I’b gunda take ah allergy pill” I sniffled, rationing Claritin on a ‘need to nose’ basis as an unpleasant stream of mucus began making its un-lady-like descent from my right nostril.

“Fhewt” Pretty responded, a significantly more elegant sneeze.

My high holy holiday of Halloween was almost upon us, and heading out the door to shop on my “black Wednesday” (aka when all manner of spooky decorations are 50% off!), I was disappointed to see all the best items picked over or gone. Cheery green and red Christmas items already lined the shelves of my local Target, seasonal carols played over the intercom and any hopes I had of replacing my dancing skeleton bath towels was out of the question. “This isn’t going to be much of a Halloween” I sighed, heading back to my car empty-handed.

>>>Friday, Oct. 29<<<

Having mastered the fine art of sleeping ‘til noon on hiatus, I accidentally woke up at 9:30am being stared down by a feline version of Frankenstein’s “Igor”.

With one chipmunk-like puff of a cheek above her right whiskers making her squint unpleasantly, her normal left eye suddenly looked like a bulging Marty Feldman orb in comparison. “What happened to you?” I worried, trying to get a closer look at my cat’s face who immediately became Houdini in her brilliant ability to escape any kind of lingering restraints.

But remembering my friend Ellen’s advice a few years ago when dealing with anxiety, I took the emotion out of the moment, procured Pretty’s travel carrier from storage, and cleaned it with meticulous care should I need to escort her to the veterinarian. The logic made sense. I had adopted my kitty 15 years ago to the day. And at the grown up age of 44, I did what any grown up woman would do.

 I called my Mommy!

“I’ve been staring at Pretty for the last two hours. She’s napping on the bed, she doesn’t seem to be in any pain and she purrs when I pet her. It almost looks like a paper cut on her cheek, and I’ve been reading a couple of books lately, and she wipes her face on the pages when she wants attention, and, and, and…” I blathered on frantically. “What do I do?!”

Having raised two daughters and a handful of household pets, my Mother’s cooler head prevailed. “Cats are smart when it comes to such things. They tend to take care of themselves. Just keep an eye on her, and I’ll call you tomorrow to check in.”

And keep an eye on her I did.

Whilst I have no official proof of such vigilance, I’m relatively sure that I clocked in approximately 36 hours of doing nothing more than staring at my unusually lethargic sleeping feline sidekick for two days…

>>>Sunday, Oct. 31<<<

“Happy Hallowhat the hell…?” I bolted upright, spying the blood on the linens and Pretty looming ominously over my head, a small chunk of fur and chipmunk face clawed out and missing from her right cheek.

“Mowww!” she greeted me brightly, green eyes shining, a normal wet nose running down the length of my arm that had sufficed as an adequate substitute for an overnight pillow. “Mrrrowoww” she continued affectionately pawing my shoulder, an effective albeit transparent craftiness in which to hopefully obtain a saucer of the Great White Nectar (milk). “Nowww” she demanded, taking long stretching strides to the foot of the bed.

And granting her wish of a bit of cow juice, I threw away the older sheets (ironically I’d ordered a new set the night before online) and replacing the linens, Pretty embraced her kittenish favorite games of ‘Bed-Surfing’ (sliding along the top of the slick duvet), ‘Where’s the Kitty?’ (purring in a curled-up ball under the fitted sheet), and ‘Cat-Bat-Napped!’ (where she realizes she’s pinned underneath everything and uses echolocation to find the closest corner out of which to escape and land triumphantly on top!)

Yes her Spirit was back, but half of her face was missing, and I was still a basket case.

“Mom?!”

“Leave her be. She’ll keep it clean with kitty spit” my Mother calmly reassured me.

***

Banking approximately 48 more hours of staring at my heroic feline sidekick, I’m relatively convinced that she’ll be just fine.

Sure she’s occasionally annoyed that my constant silent eye-balling her while she sleeps seems to be somehow louder than a helicopter flying overhead and wakes her up intermittently, but hey, that’s the price she’s gotta pay for scaring the crap out of me on Halloween!

Exhausted, (still staring!) but with utmost respect and admiration for those of you known as an actual real Mom,

~P

p.s. Special thanks to ‘Delirious’, and my friend Cyn for holding my email-hand this week!