Our cat Jack is the most obnoxious of our cats. She’s the loudest and has the most to say. She is extremely assertive, especially about informing us that it’s time for her to eat (whether it actually is or not), or when trying to scavenge off our plates. But despite her brash exterior, Jack is, in fact, a scaredy cat.
The first time Jack saw my brother’s dog, Jed (who never chases cats and usually sleeps with my brother’s two cats at night), she hid under the couch and wouldn’t come out. I’m sorry to say that I was secretly pleased, because it was Thanksgiving dinner and my brother had also brought his friend Carrie, and I had been somewhat concerned that Jack would either be yowling or jumping onto the table to get at the food. This would have been horribly embarrassing and completely negated the desired effect. This was when we discovered that Jack was a secret wuss.
When I got home yesterday, Jack and Hannah were waiting for me in the hallway as usual, and everything seemed normal until I went to feed the cats. Feeding time at our zoo is not a quiet and refined affair. Cleo starts up, and since Jack thinks Cleo is the coolest thing around (she could be right), she starts up too, trying to imitate Cleo. Sophie also puts in her bid not to be forgotten. Hannah doesn’t really say anything — like Buddy, she knows the food is coming and isn’t worried about it. She also uses the Buddy method of going through the living room and into the kitchen through that door instead of the hall door like everyone else. It’s nice that he lives on in little things like that.
But yesterday, for the first time since we brought Jack home as a dollar-bill sized kitten, she didn’t come running into the kitchen when she heard the music of food. So something was wrong.
It’s amazing how many places there are for a cat to hide in a one bedroom, one bathroom apartment. I looked everywhere and called for her. Finally I tore the couch apart (literally — there were cushions everywhere) and she streaked out from under the couch. And vanished. Again with the searching, but this time not finding. I was pretty much freaking out, even though logic told me she had to be somewhere in the damn apartment. Why didn’t John get home? He can fix anything.
Finally, he did, and was all calm and found her hiding place, took her out and she was 100% fine. Something must have scared her, but I can’t imagine what. I was there the whole time and didn’t hear anything. The funniest thing is: Jack is, paws down, the naughtiest of our cats. But at the thought that something could have happened to her, my stomach ached and I freaked out. It must be why she always has one of the other cats to snuggle with or play with. We love her in spite of her faults. I guess that’s what love really is.