While my sister was on vacation, I had to look after her house and the cat that lived in it. In order not to go every day to feed the animal, I packed my things and moved to my sister’s apartment for a couple of weeks.
On the very first day in the new house, I got sick. I was about to go to bed early, but the cat interfered with my plan — starting to meow loudly, he forced me to come into the kitchen. I fed the animal, poured it clean water, even stroked it, but the cat did not calm down — he sat down in the middle of the kitchen and screamed heart-rendingly.
I changed the litter in the tray, found some meat for the fluffy and patted him behind the ear, but none of it worked.
My state of health left much to be desired, but I could not go to sleep under the heart-rending howl of the cat. The cat didn’t want to move and leave the kitchen and didn’t even look towards the food. When the hum died down a little, I decided to go to bed, but as soon as I reached the room, the cat continued his concert. Unable to withstand the stress, I chased the cat out of the kitchen with a broom and closed the doors in front of his very nose.
The cat was not going to go anywhere, he settled himself in front of the closed door and continued to howl heart-rendingly. I decided that I needed to show the animal to the veterinarian and, abandoning my plan to go to bed, dragged myself to the kitchen, drink coffee and look for the nearest clinic. When I wanted to turn on the kettle, I noticed that the gas on one of the burners was open, but there was no fire.
It turned out that the cat wanted to warn me about the danger. And instead of thanks I hit him with a broom. I had to apologize.