This story ends well, in case you're one of those people who reads the last page of a book first ;)
A few days ago, Cillian started this weird thing. He was skittish, and crying constantly, and would run away from me when I walked toward him. It was just awful to see, and I couldn't imagine what had happened. It didn't seem as though there was an injury, and the obvious indicators of illness weren't there. But clearly, he was sick. I called the vet, nervous first-time cat mom that I am. And they sounded worried, too.
The first night after I noticed this sadness, neither cat tried to sleep up on my bed. This is unusual. Weirdly, missing that annoying behavior made me more worried. When the clock went off, I had to go look for them.
I didn't have to look far; their beds are in my room. They were cuddled up in Claddagh's much bigger bed. Usually if they sleep together, they're jumbled up, like puppies in a pile. This time, they were spooning. I'm not kidding. They were nestled in, and Claddagh had his paw around Cillian's little tummy. I wish I had taken a picture, but I didn't want to disturb them.
Did Claddagh know that Cillian was sick? Probably. Did he surmise a stomach ache? OK, probably not. Probably they just wiggled around in the bed until they were both comfortable. And yet, it's hard not to anthropomorphize when it comes to Claddagh. He knows stuff, I swear.
And this morning, Cillian jumped on my bed for his morning snuggle, and now they're fighting over the toy mice. We're back to normal, apparently.
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