F has been calling me Peg Leg Puss. She wasn't making so much fun on Sunday night when they got home from sailing and found me getting about on 3 legs.
Privately I'll confess I wasn't feeling great, but while they were away sailing I'd buried that stupid feeder thing under a pile of carpet and bubble wrap which stopped it from turning around. So my more immediate concern was that I hadn't eaten all day.
The food on offer in that rotating thing wasn't to my taste anyway - that's why I'd buried it.
I can always tell when I'm being dragged off to the vet. I get shut inside my basket. Any other day I can ride in the car and look out the windows, but not when it's a vet visit.
Aunty Emma, the vet, was nice, but she did weigh me and reveal that despite the hated diet, I've put on weight (they don't know about the mice.) More to the point, she told F that I've got a cat bite abscess on my elbow. That's given it away. They think I don't fight cats. Well I do fight the cats that take liberties with access to my garden. It's my garden. Mine. It's a territory thing, and I'm fed up with that black and white intruder who stalks through here like he has diplomatic immunity. Diplomatic is the last word you could possibly use to describe him.
This week I have had to swallow pills. It was swallow pills or choke on them. Aunty Emma said that the pills have been made in a new flavour that cats like. Aunty Emma isn't a cat; any cat that likes those pills, has had its tastebuds anaethetized.
Privately I'll confess I wasn't feeling great, but while they were away sailing I'd buried that stupid feeder thing under a pile of carpet and bubble wrap which stopped it from turning around. So my more immediate concern was that I hadn't eaten all day.
The food on offer in that rotating thing wasn't to my taste anyway - that's why I'd buried it.
I can always tell when I'm being dragged off to the vet. I get shut inside my basket. Any other day I can ride in the car and look out the windows, but not when it's a vet visit.
Aunty Emma, the vet, was nice, but she did weigh me and reveal that despite the hated diet, I've put on weight (they don't know about the mice.) More to the point, she told F that I've got a cat bite abscess on my elbow. That's given it away. They think I don't fight cats. Well I do fight the cats that take liberties with access to my garden. It's my garden. Mine. It's a territory thing, and I'm fed up with that black and white intruder who stalks through here like he has diplomatic immunity. Diplomatic is the last word you could possibly use to describe him.
This week I have had to swallow pills. It was swallow pills or choke on them. Aunty Emma said that the pills have been made in a new flavour that cats like. Aunty Emma isn't a cat; any cat that likes those pills, has had its tastebuds anaethetized.
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