Jun 15, 2015 3 min read

As Sophia Petrillo would say, “Picture it: Canonsburg, 2015.” Sweat and humidity caused my hair to cling to my face. The impossible-to-remove dust bunnies floated lazily above my head. I reached under the bed one more time with the broom, trying to bring forth the cat that was hiding from me. Each hiss had me pulling my hand back from certain pain. How did I get to this point, I wondered?

I agreed to cat sit for my sister.

Between her and her roommate, they have five cats. This is not an issue for me, as I have six, but only one of their cats likes me. One hides from me the entire week, one hisses the whole time I’m there, one runs from me and one looks at me disdainfully while avoiding my attempts to pet him. The only one who likes me lives alone in an upstairs apartment because the other cats don’t like her, either. We’re kindred spirits, I guess.

There were few instructions for me short of food, water and scooping litter boxes. The only two things really impressed upon me were to ensure the disdainful cat didn’t get outside, and the upstairs cat didn’t come down. No problem to handle, right?

The first day, I had to search high and low for the disdainful cat. He was not in any closet, the bathtub, behind the couch, in the dry sink or under the sink. I felt like a snoop looking for him, but I was surely not going to lose him on the first day!

Finally, I texted my sister to ask her where he hides. Thankfully, she told me, as I never would have found him in a million years. He tore the fabric off the edge of the underside of her box spring and climbed into the cloth like a hammock.

Later in the week, I couldn’t find the upstairs cat. Certain she escaped, I scoured the entire house. Finally, I was sure I discovered her, also in the box spring hammock. As gently as possible, I began to cajole her out from under the bed. (See the first paragraph for how that went.)

Just as I was about to give up hope, my daughter yelled she found the upstairs cat – upstairs. What cat, then, was I jabbing with the broom?

A second inspection, with a flashlight, showed I was poking the cat that hides. It was no wonder she was hissing and clawing at me. She is used to me ignoring her as she ignores me, and my attempt at physical contact was not within the parameters of our relationship.

Exhausted, I smoothed my hair back down and wiped my brow. Between the above events and trying to discourage the raccoon out back, I had enough. I was ready for my sister to come home.

Probably not as ready as her poor cats were, though.

Laura Zoeller can be reached at zoeller5@verizon.net.