It was the hot dog that did it. Definitely.
Generally, you can’t have your cat wearing something made of pork on its head without people asking some serious questions about your life. If your pet has ever worn your lunch, you’ll know what I mean. It’s a game changer.
The thing is, eating is difficult when you’re thinking hard. You just trust your body to do its chewy thing. The problem was my jaw had kind of skipped after my brain and checked into Hotel La-La Land. My mouth and eyes really didn’t notice that an entire frankfurter had somersaulted from a bun. I just kept chomping on the carbs, staring into space whilst my cat did a runway show into the kitchen with some seriously avant-garde headgear.
I only noticed when Mum said, “Millie. Dave is modeling your dinner. Any thoughts?”
Then she gave one of her “all-seeing oracle” parental looks. You know the sort of thing. The “I know you’re worried about something but you’re not telling me because you’re too worried and now I’m worried and basically THIS IS A GLOBAL WORRY PANDEMIC” kind of looks.
My mum can tell a lot from a half-a-second stare. It’s her special talent. Face reading, guilt-tripping, and getting things out of you that you don’t want to talk about. I think the FBI needs her. She’d crack anyone in minutes.
I tried to get her off my case by asking her if she’d managed to get her phone out and record Dave doing her thing for a vlog but Mum said, “No. Creating great content is of no concern to me. It’s even less of a concern to me when I think my little girl might be working herself up into a state about things.”
There was another epic “drill into my brain” gaze, but at that point Dave sashayed back into the room with a sausage behind her. Mum was distracted, mainly because Dave looked like she should be on the cover of Vogue. You’ve never seen a cat work it with such total conviction. She was Gigi Hadid, but with a tail and a flea collar.
I took my chance then. “I need to go and get my stuff from Dad’s place,” I snapped very quickly. That’s your only hope in a situation like this. Deflecting.
Mum kept looking at Dave, but said firmly, “Okay, Millie, but when you come back we need an honest chat. Anxiety doesn’t just steal sausages. It’s a thief of your time and your happiness. And it’s something…”
At that moment Dave jumped onto my lap and dropped a gherkin into my palm. I didn’t know I’d lost that, either.
Yes, Mum. We can have a chat. I just need to get things straight in MY head first. And that may take a while. In fact, it may take forever.
But I didn’t say that to her. I just gave her a hug, threw Dave the rest of my hot dog bun, and left. Dave loves buns. We call bread “sliced cat-bohydrate” in our house.
I’ve just realized I’m still holding the gherkin. Random sliced gherkins in your hand usually mean something is not quite right with the world. Let me try to explain what. I don’t think it makes me sound very nice, but it’s the truth.