Sequestered: A Blog by Marcy Mary

Hi! It’s me, Marcy Mary. Did you miss me? Well, I missed you. Every time I thought about writing a blog, I was needed by one of my family. Mom is staying with Aunt Bertha for a few days as she recuperates from successful emergency gall-bladder surgery. Before she left, Mom said to me, “Marcy Mary, I want you to manage all the mental health needs this week.”

I knew exactly what she meant, and I have to tell you it hasn’t been easy, but of course I am doing an excellent job. 

Along with my cat siblings, Kotty and Rex, we have been providing nonstop therapy all week. At any moment we may be needed as one of our human sisters, Hattie (age sixteen) or Pinky (age twelve), breaks down in tears—or even my dear Joey (who is ten) has a moment.

The other day I found him sitting on the side of his bed, wiping away tears with his small, dirty hands. (He hasn’t embraced the whole “wash your hands for twenty seconds” advice yet.) I put my foot on his shoe, and looking down, he said in a watery voice, “I miss my friends, Marcy.” So I jumped up beside him and flipped his hand onto my head. Yuck … But “needs must,” as they say. He started stroking my back, and soon, the tears stopped. “It’s a good thing I have you,” he said, putting his arms around my neck in a brief hug.

Dad, who is sort of in charge of the house, has other therapy needs, which include several walks a day. Sometimes Joey comes with us. Walking the dog in our house used to happen once or twice a day, and I looked forward to those excursions. I love walkies as much as anyone …

But I draw the line at five walks a day. I do not want to endanger my beautiful, shiny black nails. 

Today, I had to use a tactic I developed as a puppy when I’d had enough human contact. After hiding my leash under a pile of dirty clothes in Joey’s room—no one would touch that!—I got under my parents’ king-size bed and positioned myself in the center. Not even Dad can reach me there. He finally gave up and strongly encouraged his children to walk with him. You might even say he coerced them …

So here I am in the house, with just the felines. Well, Rex is sleeping on Hattie’s pillows, and Kotty is doing gargoyle duty on the roof. 

I hate to admit it, but there is one disturbing issue that my mental-health team has not been able to effect: my humans have taken to living in their nightclothes or sweat suits. Walks are even taken in their pajamas! It is so embarrassing. By about 2:00 p.m., these garments take on a decidedly feral scent. And I know feral scents. I haven’t heard the washer and dryer operating for days. I would even prefer Hattie’s eau d’musk-ox cologne to the ambient fragrance …

We were able to nip hoarding in the bud though. Pinky had hidden toilet paper under her bed. This came to a head in the expected way when Dad had need of some TP and none was to be had. “There was a whole pack from Costco!” Dad ranted. Since Kotty was on the roof, it was up to Rex and I to find the missing goods. We found Pinky’s stash, and together, we got Dad’s attention, pulling on the leg of his sweatpants. And Dad came through—Mom would have been proud.

While he was having a serious discussion about hoarding and anxiety with the mini-hoarder, the rest of us decided to go the kitchen, where we spend a lot of time these days. On the way, Hattie said, “She is so weird.” And Joey said he couldn’t understand why anyone would hoard toilet paper, then announced, “I never use toilet paper anyway.” Now you know why no one will touch the pile of laundry on his bedroom floor …

By then we had all arrived at the refrigerator. I had an Oreo with mayonnaise and anchovies. We have had some creative snacks these days and—wonder of wonders!—the dog and cats get lunch too.

I could go on, but you get the picture. In just two days, Mom will reappear. I can hardly wait for her to get home … except for the food part …