**Diary Entry – 14th May**
My cat refused to leave the kitchen all day. She perched on the gas cooker, mewing incessantly—until the horrifying truth of her odd behaviour finally dawned on me.
That morning, Emily acted strangely. Normally, she’d laze about until noon, twitching her paws in sleep, but today she was restless from the moment I woke.
She wouldn’t budge from the kitchen. Every time I stepped in, there she was—on the hob, either yowling urgently or hissing sharply at the wall. I scooped her up, thinking she just wanted attention, but the second I turned away, she’d dart back, wide-eyed, as if pleading with me.
At first, I assumed she was hungry. I filled her bowl with kibble and even brought out her favourite treats, but she ignored them. Odd, because Emily never turns down a bite.
By evening, I felt dreadful—lightheaded, queasy, utterly drained. I blamed fatigue or maybe my blood pressure. But Emily grew more frantic—dashing about, leaping onto the cooker, mewing so shrilly it grated on my nerves.
Then, at last, I understood—and sheer horror gripped me.
Later that night, my neighbour, Mr. Thompson, popped in to borrow a spanner. He frowned the moment he entered. *”You’ve a strong smell of gas,”* he said. *”Very strong.”*
We rang emergency services. A carbon monoxide leak seeped from the damaged pipes behind the cooker. The gas had built up slowly, and my “fatigue” had actually been poisoning.
Even now, I shudder at what might’ve happened if not for Emily. She sensed it from the start—her cries, her hissing, her desperate attempts to keep me in the kitchen. She was warning me.
We rushed to hospital, got checked over, and luckily, no lasting harm was done. But now, whenever Emily acts “odd,” I pause and pay attention.
That day, she saved my life.
