TRAPPED LIKE A RAT

Me, guarding the back staircase.

Sometimes it’s not a Good Thing to have a shy and retiring personality. Just ask me. Hakuna, one of the Kitties d’Elisson. (I’m the good-looking one.)

I love my sister Matata, and she loves me. I think. We’re (adoptive) sisters, and like sisters, we can be sweet to each other one minute, prickly the next. Our personalities are complementary: Matata is the Alpha Female, queen of all she surveys, while I tend to be quiet, maybe even a little skittish. But I yam what I yam, as Popeye was wont to say.

The Bifurcated Gods (that’s what Matata and I call Elisson and SWMBO) were away all last week. We had no idea where they were going, but we both knew something was in the wind when they started packing their valises. Matata even tried to get packed up in one, fer cryin’ out loud. As usual, they had arranged for someone to come in to feed and water us (their Hairy Children) twice a day while they were...wherever the hell it is they go. And I heard SWMBO explaining to the Cat-Sitter on the phone that I like to make myself scarce: If you don’t see Hakuna every day, it’s no reason to be worried. When Unfamilar People come to visit, like as not, I’ll take up residence inside the box spring of the bed in Elder Daughter’s room. Hey, you never know!

Wednesday, when the cleaning people came, I followed my usual practice, secreting myself in my Box-Spring Haven. But this time it almost proved to be my undoing...because the cleaning people closed the door behind them, unknowingly shutting me up in the room. I was trapped like a rat.

The worst part was, I had no idea when Elisson and SWMBO would be back. Would it be a day? A week? Forever? More than a few days, and I’d be toast: There was, of course, no food or water in my prison, nor were there toilet facilities. I (like most cats) pride myself on my hygiene, and the idea of crapping or whizzing without a litter box appalled me...but after most of a day had gone by, well, a cat’s gotta do what a cat’s gotta do. I was ashamed...but, hey, it really wasn’t my fault. And I tried to keep matters, ahhh, all in one place, as it were. An easy task, ’cause you don’t need to pee without you have something to drink. Gaaaah!

When the Bifurcated Ones arrived Saturday evening - a full three days later - they didn’t see me at first. But they could hear me, mewling piteously, as they wended their way upstairs. I was meowing in (mostly) sheer gratitude and relief at that point...with a little self pity, and I’ll confess, more than just a little fear.

Well, Elisson and SWMBO were horrorstricken when they realized that I had been locked up all that time. I think they were amazed that I was still alive, and, in fact, not too much the worse for wear once I had got a little food and water in me. I continued to bitch and moan for the rest of the evening and all through the night, just to make sure they knew how pitiful I was.

Matata? That twat. You’d think she’d pull a Lassie to rescue her sister, dragging the cat-sitter upstairs by the teeth, or tapping out a message in Morse code: “Timmy Hakuna is in trouble!” Aw, hell no. She was too busy enjoying Double Rations. Bitch.

I heard Elisson saying that future Cat-Sitter instructions will be amended to ensure that our presence - both of us - is confirmed visually. And meanwhile, I’m OK. Hey, without me, who would guard the back stairs?