I go through so many weird dramas with my feral cats. Last night I did the ONE thing I try not to do. I stepped on one of my cats.
When I show up at my campsite late at night my cats are usually very happy to see me. They haven’t eaten since breakfast. So they’re raring to go.
So they do this thing as I’m walking up the trail, they dart in between my legs so they can rub up against my ankles. Or sometimes they’ll lie down on their backs right in front of me and look up at me with that “PET ME!! PET ME!!” look.
Its nice. And its flattering. Its like being greeted as a conquering hero. And face it. Most of the time when I show up somewhere I don’t get greeted like “HOORAY HOORAY ITS HIM!!” Its one of the kicks of having pets I guess.
But the problem is. I’m usually drunk. And its usually pitch-dark. So I have to be very careful that I don’t step on the little guys as I’m staggering up to my campsite.
And last night it finally happened. “MUH-RRRRRRRRRR!!!”
I never even saw her. But I sure heard her. And she goes running down the hill like a bat out of hell.
So I feed the other cats. And I’m waiting for the other one to come limping back to my campsite. But she never shows up. So all night I’m worrying that I might have crushed her paw, broken her foot with my clod-hopping shoe. I weigh 200 pounds after all. 200 pounds of solid muscle. Aside from the beer gut (too bad they don’t make Olde English Lite).
So this morning when I woke up I was almost afraid to look and see if all the cats were there. For all I know she’s got a broken bone in her foot and she’s lying somewhere in the bushes in agony trying to figure out how to dial 911.
But, thankfully, all the cats were present and accounted for. And she seemed OK. No noticeable damage to her foot. So that was a relief.
One more weird cat drama. They really do have a way of sucking you into their soap operas.