So I'm serving lunch to the cats and I hear this little kitty yelp from the front hall. Not a "why can't I climb up there" meow, but a "someone stepped on my paw" yelp.
I find Whitey sniffing at a yellow jacket on the floor. First I kill it and dispose of it for him. Then I panic, remembering that cats can go into anaphylactic shock just like humans.
Then I make Whitey very irritated by holding him still so that I can see if his face is swelling up. At least the symptoms of a sting allergy are hard to miss and happen fast. I don't need to worry about finding him paws-up tomorrow morning.
He's actually fine. Which is why I'm writing this instead of sitting at the vet (for him) or the cardiac care unit (for me).
This is two lives he's used up this week. No wonder he has nine of them!