With hiding under the bed limited to forty-five minutes, there is much more time to walk on countertops, investigate bags, and look out windows. Overall there is a sulking indifference, or sadness. It was probably more fun with the people who watched her. There is a lot of sitting on the bed alone and sleeping.
At night, she will move from the foot of the bed up closer to me, finding a nook in my bent legs or arms, turning and jabbing at imperfections in the blanket’s surface, make a disgruntled meow, and curl into a half-ball, extend her front claws, and purr. The slightest movement will dislodge her in a huff, but staying still in the window’s night light will leave her there, happy and indefinite, like something out of childhood.