Catcub’s Beloved Owner is away, helping a relative with a medical emergency.

This is big news for Catcub. Up until now, Beloved Owner worked at home and has never left Catcub before. On a normal day, Catcub is used to constant presence, laptime by day, reassuring company all night, and lots of cuddling. Catcub can not fathom what-all has gone so wrong in her peaceful life.

Instead, she is left with a random visitor three times daily. That’s 33 care visits from me in 11 days for 20 minutes apiece, totalling some 11 hours of together time. At each visit I sift Catcub’s litter pan, wash her water dish, top up her kibble, place treats in her treat mouse, play games with a homemade sock ball on string and other toys, talk to her, and hold out her brush while she gives herself a good grooming. It is striking how innocent these pets really are, how we humans are their entire world. It feels important to let Kitty see that she’s not abandoned, and that her little needs are met every few hours.

From Catcub’s astute point of view, the new visitor has an alarming penchant: three times a day said visitor will go away, locking the door and leaving Catcub all alone. Upon my arrival the cat is right on hand inside the door. When I step in, she will rush to her scratching post to show me how well she can tear right in to its rugged surface. Then she will face me and stretch out her front end to knead the carpet. Then she will tag along during the chores to tell me loudly all about her day. But when it’s time for me to go she will catapult over the furniture to beat me to the door, blocking the lintel at full length and instructing me to stay indoors and put.

Catcub is an extremely cherished people-meep, a petsome little smooch. She is avid for attention, tracking me with wide dilated eyes, lashing her tail. In a perfect world her ambition would be to bedeck me with pheromones and plant her nose up to mine and wrap herself around my neck like a fancy stole for unlimited whiskering and purring. This could be very jolly, except that a. I am allergic to cats, and b. any kind attention makes her even more distraught when it is time for me to go.

There’s another wee complication in the mix. Normally she enjoys chasing Beloved Owner hither and yon, giving friendly nips and swipes out of sheer enthusiasm. It’s all meant in good fun. It also calls to mind episodes of the YouTube show “My Cat From Hell.” Cat behavior expert Jackson Galaxy presented cases of cats who began mysteriously tackling their owners and hanging on with a four-paw claw wrap and tooth grip. During his house calls, Jackson advised that these cats were simply suffering from pent up energy combined with abandonment issues and separation anxiety when the owner had to be away. Jackson brought peace and calm to these households by implementing successful solutions. These included extra exercise and enrichment opportunities such as a tall running wheel, outdoor harness and leash for long walks, a hired cat visitor to stop in for regular quality time, and so on.

Jackson’s empathy is inspiring especially during his initial home assessments, when he cheerfully presents his hands and arms right in harm’s way to test just how distressed the cats might be. (Spoiler Alert: They are generally very distressed.) But for me, living with lymphedema means that I can not afford even the most affectionate cat bite or cat scratch, so these 33 visits to Catcub mean suiting up. It’s the usual compression hose and jeans, plus surgical scrub pants (worn down off the hip, so that they dangle over the ankle), plus thick ski socks and boots and two sets of house keys and a visit / task checklist and an N-95 mask. On the first few calls with all this cat caboodle I also tied brown paper grocery bags around my shins. For carrying the litter bag directly outdoors to their landfill bin each evening, it makes an eye-catching ensemble.

Luckily, Catcub is not a cat from hell at all. She is a gray tabby punkin of cuteness. It’s just that she is distraught about the absence of her owner, and growing adhesively bonded to me. This is why I pet her only by holding out her favorite brush. For departures I walk sideways, one small paused step at a time. While approaching the door I also dangle the sock ball on string between us, as she is conveniently distracted by the sock ball, and is more conveniently rather afraid of it. Just before opening the door I gently toss her treat mouse a few feet away so she will pounce on that while I slip out.

Yesterday over the home hazmat suit I added my shin-length rain slicker. The slicker deflects not only cat hair but the entire cat. Catcub is still lamenting and weaving around and leaping on furniture in attempts to get up against my face, but the swishy slicker keeps her two feet away. She still lets me brush her, and today she actually curled up in a ball on my lap while I concealed most of me under the slicker. We do what we can.

20 visits down; only 13 visits left. Better go suit up.