Friday, the 9TS wanted to go to the gym. Not thinking anything of it, I packed him up and bundled him in the car, dropped him off and came back home.
Kidlet, who is home for the weekend, immediately broke my heart by telling me a 'Pippin tale'. It seems that my little bad-to-the-bone squirrel cat suffers from separation anxiety.
She said the poor sad little beastie, plunked herself down on the rug in the laundry room, facing the door to the garage, from whence we were last seen, and plaintively cried and cried. Kidlet, being as fond of Pippin as she is, went down to investigate and tried to cuddle her into solitude. Pippin was having none of it and upon being released, returned immediately to her post, crying piteously.
When I came home, she was still there, still whimpering until she knew at least one of us was home and bounced around the house in her usual manner.
And it leaves me to worry because Pippin always greets us at the door into the garage when we come home. I much prefer to think she has been up to her old tricks . . . stomping around in the ashes of the fireplace and leaving paw prints on the furniture . . .
Truly, this is pathetic.
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