I texted Mr. Moon and he said things like, "Can you see a wound? Is there any bleeding?" and I couldn't and every time I tried to touch her she tore into me and there wasn't any bleeding and I finally wrapped her in a towel and made her a bed in a hidden place and she leapt away from that and ran somewhere, I do not know.
There was nothing to be done. We are not the sort of pet owners who take their cats to a vet at 10:30 on a Saturday night.
I felt terrible for her and helpless.
This morning though I was awakened by her. She jumped on the bed with me and snuggled and purred a bit and kissed me on the lips which she only does when she is very, very happy about something and now her paw is fine.
Was she bitten by something? She must have been. Bitten or stung. But obviously not a deadly serpent which I almost suspected last night.
Now she is sitting by me on the table, calm and grooming herself, and it is a most beautiful morning and Lily and the kids and Billy and Shayla and Waylon are going to come out for pancakes and I have a quiche in the oven too and I am in a perfectly good mood which is a sort of miracle for a Sunday morning.
Oh, Maurice. She is such a crazy insane cat with her eternally wounded face and her propensity for slicing and biting and why I should love her I do not know but I do.
If cats are indeed our familiars, she is the one I deserve and somehow the one I need.
I am so glad she is better.
I hope all is well in your world.