Not a collar for the cat, mind you.  A fur collar made out of cat.  And my nominee is ….. BERTA.

Yes my tubby tuna cat; my two tons of fun, aka Burps or Blarp Cat.

Last night, it is time for Berta’s insulin shot.  I go to the cabinet and get the syringe; open the refrigerator to retrieve her Lantus (cat insulin), and load the syringe.

Okay, Berta, I’m ready.

Berta?  Berta?  Where the fuck are you Berta?

Usually upon hearing me open the cabinet door, Berta comes.  She most certainly comes when she hears the refrigerator door open, because Berta is all about FOOD. 

And she knows after her shot, she gets three Lean Treats. 

I start a cursory search of her usual relaxing spots. 

Nope.  Not in the she cave, on the living room sofa, on the bed in the guest bedroom, nor is she in the cat bathroom using the facilities (which means peeing or pooping on the pee pads because Berta has always eschewed using the litter box – something they didn’t tell me at the animal shelter until I was actually loading Ms. Berta into my car to take home).  I even take a quick peek in the master bedroom (where my dear husband is sound asleep).  Nope.  No cat.

Now, I’m worried. 

Berta ALWAYS shows up when I go to the cat bathroom, because that is where her food bowls live; and Berta would NEVER miss a possible opportunity to garner extra food.

Fuck.

Now, I’m really concerned that I may be looking for a dead cat (or at least an extremely ill cat). 

I do a more thorough check through the house.  Not in the garage or outside on the front porch (she would have been a cat-cicle), in the Ann Frank closet, not under the Christmas Tree (don’t judge, I’ve been sick), not behind the recliners, not in the guest bedroom closets, still not in the cat bathroom, recheck the master bedroom.

And that’s where I found her – a dark lump of cat snuggled against my husband’s head, both of them sound, sound, asleep. 

I gave her the shot and then she followed me back to the kitchen because there was no way she was getting a shot and not getting her treats.

Not-so-little shit. 

So now, if Berta does not show up for food, I will know to check to see if she’s snuggled up with her warm, warm Daddy because apparently now love and warmth are more important than food in her furry little life. 

Guess I don’t need that cat collar after all. Good girl, Berta.