My Treats, My Mother, My Turn

I go to make peace with Bethesda. She is hiding under the bed. Bethesda does not hide under beds. She may occasionally (when she hears the cat carrier come out) barricade herself into an effective defensive position, but she does not “hide.” Even when new people come to visit, she goes directly to them to assess their suitability as a petter.

But now, she is hiding under the bed. Sad. Mopey. I understand sad and mopey. I get down on the floor, talking all sweet and nice, telling what a good girl she is. I coax her with treats. After a few minutes she is out from under the bed enjoying a few Greenies. Candy Cane comes bounding in, a part of her frolick, making her rounds of jumping all over the house. She approaches the treats. Bethesda, crouching, gives a short, definitive “Hhhhhhhhhhhhssssssssssttttttttttt” with maybe a touch of spit in it.

Candy Cane backs off immediately. Bethesda leisurely finishes her treats.

That’s my cat.