A couple of weeks ago the cat had a crisis. What started as an abcess turned out to be a difficult UTI with a side order of rat poison.
She spend a week under the bed, creeping out with horrifying frequency to wee blood and nibble a little food (thankfully, the stuff laced with medicine). We did not know if the little poof was going to make it. She misplaced 20% of her weight including all her body fat. She was a sad little bag of bones.
Then, one Sunday night, she disappeared under the bottom of the curtain. Suddenly, her little furry mug peered out with Jack Nicholson's expression on her face - the one from the Shining where he has just gone through the door with the axe.
"Ah, thank goodness", I sighed. "The cat has recovered."