It’s been a weird and crappy day for cat-related things. The last dream I had this morning before I woke up involved a giant flying shark thing eating my cat. It’s kind of funny because I’ve been making a lot of jokes about that movie “The Meg,” since my cat’s name is Meg and she’s an avid hunter… but in the dream it was definitely not funny. In fact, it was so terrible that I realized it had to be a dream and I woke myself up so that I could see my cat (who sleeps on my bed with me).

Then this evening I couldn’t find my cat for a while and I was afraid she’d somehow gotten out, though I wasn’t sure how. I texted my mom because I’d checked all the usual hiding places and I was starting to get seriously worried. My mom called because she was driving and couldn’t text, and suggested some places to look, and eventually I found her hiding under the bed *and* behind the curtain that hangs down behind the bed (why, cat?).

But then my mom told me that she and my dad were on their way to pick up their cat from the vet, where he had gotten surgery to remove a mass under his tongue. It turned out to be an aggressive cancer, as the vet who found it had suspected. He might be able to get chemotherapy, but that might not even be doing him any favors, and he probably has a few weeks without it. He’s only about 9 years old.

I know it’s stupid, but it kind of feels like the dream was prophetic somehow. I mean, my parents’ cat isn’t my cat – they adopted him after I’d already moved across the country – but I visit often enough that I know him pretty well. I’ve even helped get mats out of his fur.