My cat refused to leave the kitchen all day, perched on the gas hob and yowling—until I realised the terrifying reason for her odd behaviour.
That morning, my cat was acting strangely. Normally, she’d snooze till noon, twitching her paws in some feline dream, but today she was wired from the moment the sun rose.
She barely left the kitchen. Every time I stepped in, there she was, sitting stubbornly on the hob, meowing like she was running for mayor—then suddenly hissing at the wall like it had personally offended her.
I scooped her up a few times, thinking she was just after attention or in a particularly dramatic mood. But the second I turned my back, she’d leap right back onto the hob, staring at me with those wide, unblinking eyes like she was trying to deliver urgent news in Morse code.
At first, I assumed she was just hungry. I topped up her bowl, even broke out the posh tuna treats she usually goes mad for—but she ignored the lot. Now that was bizarre. My cat has never met a snack she didn’t adore.
By late afternoon, I started feeling rough—dizzy, queasy, like I’d been hit by a double-decker bus. I blamed it on stress or maybe a dodgy sandwich. Meanwhile, the cat was in full meltdown mode, darting around the kitchen, vaulting back onto the hob, yowling loud enough to wake the neighbours.
Then—finally—the penny dropped, and I nearly fainted from sheer horror.
It wasn’t until my neighbour popped round to borrow a spanner that the truth came out. He wrinkled his nose the second he stepped in and said, *”Blimey, can you smell gas? It’s strong as anything in here.”*
We called the emergency gas blokes. Turns out, there was a carbon monoxide leak from a dodgy pipe behind the hob. The gas had been creeping in for hours, and the “exhaustion” I’d brushed off? Full-blown poisoning.
I still shudder thinking what might’ve happened if not for my cat. She knew from the start. The meowing, the hissing, the kitchen stakeout—it was all her desperate way of shouting, *”Oi, human, we’ve got a situation!”*
We dashed to A&E, got checked over, and thankfully, no lasting harm done. But now? If my cat so much as side-eyes the toaster, I’m on high alert.
That day, she didn’t just save my dinner—she saved my life.
