Sadistic Kitty.

I hurt myself last week, quite badly, though I shall refrain from posting any pics of that here in case there are squeamish readers. Instead, this post will revolve around how my furry princess reacted to my injury.

As I staggered home, barely able to walk, Maxie kicked up a ruckus from the bedroom where she is usually kept locked up when I'm not home.

"Let me out! Let me out!" she yowled, from beyond the door.

Took me longer than usual, but I managed to reach the bedroom while trailing blood on the floor (I only noticed that later) to unleash the kraken...er...kitty.

She flounced out of the room, grumbling about my absense.

"Why do you always need to go out? Can't you just stay here and be content serving me? There is absolutely no reason for you to step out that-" she froze in mid-rant, my state of distress sinking in.

Maxie edged closer, and I allowed her to inspect and sniff at my wounds, being careful to draw my leg away if she decided to add any further injury to me. Kitty sniffed at my leg, then sniffed at the ground and made a disapproving mrowl. I followed her eyes and cringed...I had left bloody footprints behind me. Cleaning up as best as I could under the circumstances, I was soon trying to patch myself up under kitty's supervision.

Doctoring myself with some antiseptic, I managed to sleep that night with a home made bandage loosely covering my wounds so I don't wake up looking like I've had my period during the night.

Thanks to the pain that kept me up for most of the night, I had the rare opportunity to snap a pic of sleeping Maxie.

*snore*

The next day, I realized how sadistic Maxie can be. I've learnt a new degree of self-control when I kept myself from screaming with every step I took the day after the injury. The whole morning, Maxie spent crouching in her box, eyes peering over the edge, watching me carefully, reminiscent of a hunting tiger.

By noon, I decided I wasn't going to die, and it was apparent that Maxie agreed with me. She walked over to me nonchalantly and meowed her greeting.

"Daddy, I'm so glad you're not going to die. It would be so hard to train a new slave. I love you soooooooo much," she purred, as she rubbed herself affectionately against my left leg; the one that had been oozing blood.

I nearly kicked her in reflex to the lightning bolt of pain that struck me. Fortunately, kitty was in front of the wound and I drew my leg back instead of kicking it out forwards. Gasping in pain as my eyes watered, I watched Maxie saunter casually back to her box, self-satisfaction evident on her face. It was obvious what the devil cat was thinking: "Well, if you're not going to die from it, I might as well get a laugh from it by torturing you."

The day went on, and soon after I forgot all about that episode. That night, after I re-applied the antiseptic and was trying to will the pain away, Maxie again decided to express her affection for me by walking pass me and doing a credible impression of a CIA/KGB brush-pass. She bumped into my wounds with her shoulder, rubbed along luxuriously and flicked her tail at it as she went by. Oh mai gawd!!!!!! 

I had to grab her and wash her, all the while trying not to scream from the pain radiating off my leg, as she had antiseptic all over her fur and I couldn't risk her licking it off while I trashed around in agony.

Kitty learnt her lesson from this; rub on wound = bath, so she avoided her over-exuberant displays of love for me over the next few days. I had to make a JB trip during the weekend so I had to leave her for 3 days (don't worry, she's used to this and she actually prefers this over travelling with me).

Don't leave!

I won't allow you to go!

The last time you left, you hurt yourself!

Well, I left, I survived, and I returned. Maxie was happy to see me back in one piece (or was that disappointed? I can never be sure). She inspected my wounds and then scrupulously avoided that leg for most of the "welcome home" greeting.

After a few hours, things were back to normal at home. My wounds have scabbed over with clot so I didn't feel a need to apply antiseptic over them  again. It wasn't immediately obvious to me the implications of this act, until Maxie struck again.

5 hours after my return, Maxie meowed from the living room, I meowed back. Then she meowed behind my chair, I meowed back.  Next, she circled the chair I was in, in a clock-wise direction, making sure she carefully rubbed against BOTH my legs 3 times in 3 circles. I whimpered each time she did it but didn't want to chase her away in case she took it the wrong way as though I didn't want her love.

An idea hit me, and I took a water bottle and put it right beside my left leg so she'd circle that instead of my wounds. Well, guess what? The moment the bottle appeared, the cat walked away, whiskers twitching in amusement. She settled down in her box, yawned and looked at me. It didn't take a genius to realize that she had learnt that no antiseptic = no bath.

"Mission accomplished!" she informed me, smugly. "Welcome home, daddy," she meowed at me sweetly before closing her eyes and going to sleep.