Aida. Did not eat for five days.
I have no idea what happened. Normally, Aida wanders the house like a ghost, drifting in and out of rooms. Stealthy. A ninja.
Until you get in the kitchen and then she becomes a loud, hungry impatient diner at a restaurant whose appetizer was too small and has been waiting over an hour for her entree. You know, the one who's already had two free glasses of champagne and now wants you to comp her a dessert. That one. Loud. Noisy. Demanding.
For five days, she laid under her bed in her bedroom. Face to the wall. Didn't eat. Didn't drink. Nothing.
We thought it might be the end.
Aida's fifteen. We missed her quinceanera, so she didn't get the big ball gown or the Cinderella coach to carry her cake out the the crowd of adoring relatives. It was May 14. The day we had to let Carmen go. She understood.
And then I remembered the miracle cure for all felines who have seemingly lost the will the live.
*Cue the streaming rays of light, unicorns, rainbow and glitter*
Meat Flavored Baby Food!
*Cue singing bands of faeries and cherubs with candy raining down on the planet*
I swear to the almighty that cats on the brink of the Rainbow Bridge will come flailing back to Earth like the Road Runner for that stuff. It must be cat ambrosia.
Cut to the chase. She's fine.
Oh, it's been a slow process, nursing her back to health. I could only feed her the teeniest bits of it at first. She's dropped down to a skeletal four pounds. But for a skinny old lady, she's doing all right.
There's been some drama up in here is what I'm laying down if you're picking it up.