Now, almost two years old and still very “girly” compared to her rumbunctious sister. And racing about on the artificial hip with (mostly) no problem.
But yesterday…I took her to see Dr.D.
Sporran here: this is about me so I’ll tell the story,OK?
Dinah thought I was “not very well” so she stuffed me into that nasty box-with-the-locks and would not even give me a chance to explain that I was “really alright. Sort-of…”
Anyway, Dr. D. (who is a real cuddle man!) squeezed my tummy (!) and then he told Dinah that “this needle “ is a godsend as it delivers a 14 day dose so we don’t have to get 14 pills down them.”
It was ENORMOUS! And he jabbed it into me!
Well, maybe I don’t need to have a pill every day, but man! if they come at me again with this needle I’ll show them my needles. I have a full working set. And don’t you forget it, mister!
Dinah: We’re hoping (and so far, so good) the antibiotic will do the trick. Chronic cystitis would be miserable for anyone and Sporran’s had more than enough drama already in her short life.
Why? How? Life is as much a lottery for cats as for us. She’s on a good (make that very good!) diet, as are the others. And I don’t feed her exclusively on dry biscuits. Hell! They fare better than us some days!
Anyway, today she is much perkier and has already chased several skinks, butterflies and her sister.
Dinah is muttering something about dashing away with a smoothing iron. Personally, I think she ought to be getting dinner sorted, but sometimes human are difficult to train.
<This is me!
(And she’s drawn us too fat!)
And we are black! says Geiger