Fresh Sheets from the Dryer + Cats =

Hobbes's Secret

Looking at this photo of our lazy and fat tub o' orange and white fur one would never believe what I am about to relay, but I swear on a stack of Friskies Salmon pate (his fav) that it is all too true.

A couple nights ago as I am finally beginning to drift off to sleep after 3 hours of tossing and turning (sadly -- the norm these days) a thought strikes me... "Why hasn't Hobbes been poking at my nose?" You see, cats are creatures of routine, and one of Hobbes's routines is every night as soon as I turn off the reading light and settle in for sleep he insists on sauntering lumbering over to within inches of my face and poking me in the nose with his outstretched paw (often catching some skin as his claws sometimes extend -- very startling if I haven't seen him coming). But that night -- no nose pawing.

So, I sit up a bit and notice he's not even on the bed. Hmm. Lean over the side, and he's not on the dog bed, either (he likes it because it's not his, so he claims it and challenges any to usurp his princely throne -- none do). Okay, now I'm awake so I call him. "Hobbes. Hobbesies..." Nothing (really, he's a cat so I don't know what I was expecting). So up I get.

I check the kitchen table (his favorite day-time lounging spot -- lots of activity out the kitchen window). No Hobbes. The litter boxes -- no Hobbes. Then I remember he and Boogs have been curling up together in Simon's crate lately (again -- claiming their territory I think). Check the crate -- Boogs is there (looking peeved that I disturbed him), but no Hobbes.

This pattern goes on throughout the house for several minutes with my heart rate continually increasing and my calls surely sounding more appealing to a rotund house cat (so I was hoping), but Hobbes is nowhere to be found.

Now I'm in a panic. As a last resort I throw on my pants and shoes and grab a flashlight and head out into the backyard (knowing full well the only way out there for him would be down the stairs -- which he abhors -- to the basement -- which he avoids like the plague -- and through the dog door -- quite the step up for a 20 pound cat). But what the hell, it'll make me feel better to look and at least exhaust the options.

So out the door I go. "Hobbes! Hobbesies!" Nothing (duh). Around the side to what I think was intended to be a garden. "Hobbes!" No Hobbes. Back to the yard and now my flashlight is scanning the bushes and trees. Still no Hobbes.

I turn the corner to head up the stairs to the gate and frozen in the beam of my flashlight...
(This is my best drawing of his shocked expression -- one which seemed to say, "Crap! You're supposed to be asleep!")

He froze for a second and then darted (yes, darted --well, his front feet dart, and his back feet kinda bounce like the rear end of a Lincoln Towncar with a shot suspension) back down the stairs, past me, down the path to the back door and disappeared behind the dog door flap into the relative safety of the house. In my head I heard him saying, "Aargh! Caught! Crap crap crap!" all the way back upstairs.

Panic turned to unrestrained laughter. I am sure my neighbors thought there was a wounded seagull in their yard as I think my attempts at muffling my amusement were largely unsuccessful. His expression and less-than-graceful retreat reminded me of... well, he just looked so embarrassed. It cracked me up.

So our fat, lazy and sedentary Hobbes seems not to be so sedentary after all.

And yes, I am closing the dog door at night now. ;)

The Diagnosis

Miss Kitty has Feline Eosinophilic Granuloma Complex and has to be on antiobiotics for two months. I also have to clean her chin with medicated pads. You can kinda see one of the spots on the right side of her chin here.