Kitsu was gone all day. She missed her canned cat food breakfast and it was her favorite flavor. By evening, I was getting pretty worried and called repeatedly for her.
I hate it when this happens. Every time it does, I swear the girls are going to become indoor cats. No more dangerous outdoors for them.
Since we've lived in Utah, I've lost four cats and every time it breaks my heart. I don't want to go through it again. I don't want my cats to go through it. But making them indoor only cats would probably require declawing them, and I am adamantly opposed to cat mutilation.
When I try locking them in, they act like the house has become Abu Ghraib and keep trying for a jail break. I feel like their warden and hate it.
About 8:00 Kitsu came hollering up the stairs with a major case of poo-poo pants. Of course, I added to the trauma by catching her and washing her hind end. She just doesn't understand that being washed is way better than having to lick it off. It was a wee bit traumatic for me too; I had to take a shower, throw my clothes into the washer and put antibiotic cream on my wounds after the cat bath.
I wish Kitsu could talk so she could tell me what happened.
She has forgiven me for the bath and is currently curled between my chest and the keyboard, purring loudly.
I love my cats and want them to be happy, healthy and safe forever. Why do happy and safe have to be mutually exclusive?