The birds ... they’re just taunting me, chirping, chirping
Not so for my food bowl attendant, treat giver and kitty-box cleaner, HAM. He had skin graft surgery after chemical burns destroyed his lower leg’s skin. The good news was that he was confined to bed at home for 14 weeks and I got to play nurse. I especially loved sleeping between the comfy and the heat pad. A quarter turn every 20 minutes with a well deserved scratch and I know I made him feel better. I claimed his tummy and chest and Tristan (we had disagreements over this) claimed his sides and prop-up pillows. Tweets would only help out when we all snuggled during his pain-shock shakes.
I have lost my trim figure. I now weigh over 12.8 (US pounds) and my legs never grew long and I kind of have a Welsh-corgi profile. But my fur has turned to mink soft and I do “glow”!!!!.
I read a book about strange human-animals in 1800 England (sci-fi) called Soulless, by Gail Carriger. It was really fun but no cat people. Only wolf people and ghosts and vampires; why don’t they ever write about cats (unless they’re evil or detectives?).
Tigger no longer wants to go up and down the stairs, and Keys has been giving him more medicine. He still loves fresh catnip and after a chew or two will play with me and let me really “get-down” and clean him. Then he sleeps for hours and hours.
I’m in trouble again!! You see, the birds sit on the patio fence - they’re just taunting me, chirping, chirping, chirping = flutter flutter, Well it’s not my fault there is a big hole in the screen.
We were supposed to go to Lake Superior, but I guess it will be Fall, with the leaves dropping and colorful before we go this year.
Keys is having surgery today, so Tweetie and I have to work out who will be in charge. (Tweetie - she is such a torte-bitch) but Tweetie does own Ms. Keys.
Sorry for such a short note, but with all this nursing and fussing, this spring has not been too eventful.
(My sensitivities have been hurt, damaged, crushed, violated, and destroyed. CAN YOU BELIEVE Ms. Keys called me butterball.)
I’ll talk to you later I’m going to sulk now (and lick my wounded ego)