How the bed in the Spicer home normally looks. JORDAN BLAKE / CONTRIBUTED
Photo: JORDAN BLAKE
Photo: JORDAN BLAKE

A cat’s retreat: underneath the bed

We all have places we retreat when we’re stressed, ill or just want to be left alone.

I have two. The study and the master bedroom, depending on the issue. The cat in my family does, too. Under a bed.

This space is rarely used. It’s dark and quiet. A perfect place for a cat to get away from its family. A place that is safe and secure.

According to nest.com, cats retreating to the dark quiet under the bed can be for numerous reasons, from the everyday to the serious. From taking an afternoon nap to anxiety and depression.

Our late cat, Abby, hid under a guest bedroom’s bed when she was tired of our then 4-year-old dog, Teddy, bugging her to play with him. She’s usually curled up in a tight ball sleeping peacefully while Teddy looked for someone else to play with.

When Abby was younger she would hide under the master bedroom bed and swat at a mouse on a string tied to a stick that would fly by her.

Wednesday, our daughter Jordan’s 1-year old cat, wasn’t one for hiding under the bed. That all changed several weekends ago.

Jordan was coming to our home for the weekend. A short 45-minute drive. Wednesday has taken the drive with our daughter multiple times since she was adopted from SICSA.

In fact, Wednesday is a seasoned traveler, having not only visited Bellbrook but Columbus and Pittsburgh, too. Jordan had started taking Wednesday on trips as a kitten, getting her used to a cat carrier.

So, when Jordan started packing, Wednesday did her usual antics, sitting in the weekend bag and walking in and out of the carrier. Basically, being a nuisance.

Jordan sent me a text that she would be home for dinner. When that time rolled around there was no Jordan and no Wednesday.

“Have you left yet?” I texted.

“NO!!!” All caps gets a phone call from your mother.

“What’s up?” I asked.

In a irritated tone, Jordan said, “Wednesday’s smack in the middle underneath the bed and I can’t get her out.”

“Really? For how long?” I tried not to laugh.

“Over two hours.” Jordan sounded grumpier.

“Two hours? Have you tried getting her out?” Now, I was really laughing.

I first heard a long huffy breath. “Of course, Madre ( her nickname for me). I offered her favorite treats. Played with the laser light, mouse on the stick and catnip ball. No luck. She’s being a total diva.”

“Can you reach her to pull her out? “

”No, the bed frame is too low to the ground.”

“Do you think she’s stressed? Not feeling well? Tired of traveling?” I asked, trying to think of a reason.

“She ate the treats and played with the laser light so I don’t think so. I’ve got to go. I have one more idea to try,” Jordan quickly said and ended the call.

About 30-minutes later I got a text with an image attached. “We’re on our way.” The image was of Jordan’s bed taken totally apart, with the mattress and box springs up against the wall.

I laughed until I cried.

Forty-five minutes later, Wednesday strutted into our house looking no worse from the ordeal. Jordan, on the other hand, looked frazzled, hungry and totally defeated.

Jordan retreated to her quiet place for a few minutes, the top of her bed.

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