They suffer in silence.

It had been awhile
since she'd let me pick her up--
a typical specimen
with her own agenda
and little time for me in it.
I caught her off guard
in her half asleep state
rolled up in a mound
of fuzzy blue blankets.
Victory was finally mine.

She squirmed around at first
until I stroked her head
and between her shoulders
enough to calm her down
for a quick bit of affection.
Once I'd stopped, though
she seized the opportunity
and leapt from my my grasp
sprung from my torso
and landed on the hardwood floor.
It was only a two-foot drop
since I was sitting down
but the angle and force
at and with which she hit, respectively
didn't seem too accommodating.

My chores led me downstairs
so I left her to her own devices.
Half an hour later I came back
to check on her and managed
to pick her up again, cradling her
in my arms against my chest.
I moved my hand and saw
bright red blood covering my finger
then noticed two spots on my shirt
where she had been leaning.
I put her back down and inspected
her limbs and found where the blood
was coming from.
She must've broken a nail on impact
when she'd jumped before.
It had happened to others
I'd had in the past, but this was the first
time I'd seen her injured.
She hopped gingerly behind the chair
where she felt safe
and nursed her wound with her tongue.

I let her be for the rest of the day.
I knew she'd be alright, but it was hard
to watch her lose that precious blood
even in small quantities.
What shocked me was her serene
appraisal of the situation.
She'd never seen her own blood before
but it came as no surprise to her
and she mended herself as best she could
just as Nature embedded in her genetic coding.

The bleeding stopped in an hour
and so did the limp-wristed hobbling.
She was her same rambunctious self again.
We'd made it-- she'd survived and I still had my friend.
You can't say you've really loved something
until it's bled on you.