Back dat ass up
My babies don't feel good, and I had to take both of them to the vet this morning. They're both sneezy and poor little Thirteen is definitely tiring out faster than he usually does. I might've known he'd give me no trouble. Not my little honeybear.
No, it's that little bastard in the tuxedo you've gotta watch out for now.
Last time I took both boys to the vet together was when I first got them, when they were six weeks old and didn't even weigh three pounds combined. Now that Thirteen weighs in at four-and-a-half pounds and Friday is about five-and-a-half pounds, there's more chance for some kind of meaningful protest to be carried out.
Neither cat was any trouble on the drive over to the vet's office, nor did their little angelic faces cause any ruckus while I was checking them in. As soon as we were out of sight of the nice ladies at the desk, though, Friday made known his displeasure with the current situation. He stretched his little spider monkey arm out of the cage as far as it would go, and deftly hooked a claw into the pad of my index finger, like sinkin' a big, rusty hook into a mackerel's pouty lips.
I managed to disengage the tiny paw of death from my finger, and only bled a little teeny moderate bit onto my jeans. Once I was in the exam room and the vet was in with us, I'm sure both kittens were convinced that mommy hated them as I held them steady for the rectal thermometer. Oh, the back legs a-flailin'...
No retaliation was attempted for the duration of the visit or the drive home. In fact, Friday cuddled with me all day, as if to say, "All's forgiven, I looooove you!"
Suckaaaaaaaaaah....
About 8:30 in the evening, I decided to lay down and watch some TV. Friday hopped up on the bed with me, and as I prepared for him to curl up next to me, he deviated from his usual routine and started to walk over me. I didn't have to wonder long what he was up to, as he promptly backed up and tried to make his sphincter meet my forehead.
I said, "Not without dinner first, you don't!"
Well, no, I didn't...actually, I said, "DO NOT PUT YOUR ASS ON MY FACE! That's crossing the line!"
He stopped, turned around, and stared down at me with his huge, innocent eyes. And then he sneezed, right in my face. Big, wet, sea spray mist sneeze. Right in my face.
I have a hunch he hasn't forgiven the thermometer in the butt yet.
No, it's that little bastard in the tuxedo you've gotta watch out for now.
Last time I took both boys to the vet together was when I first got them, when they were six weeks old and didn't even weigh three pounds combined. Now that Thirteen weighs in at four-and-a-half pounds and Friday is about five-and-a-half pounds, there's more chance for some kind of meaningful protest to be carried out.
Neither cat was any trouble on the drive over to the vet's office, nor did their little angelic faces cause any ruckus while I was checking them in. As soon as we were out of sight of the nice ladies at the desk, though, Friday made known his displeasure with the current situation. He stretched his little spider monkey arm out of the cage as far as it would go, and deftly hooked a claw into the pad of my index finger, like sinkin' a big, rusty hook into a mackerel's pouty lips.
I managed to disengage the tiny paw of death from my finger, and only bled a little teeny moderate bit onto my jeans. Once I was in the exam room and the vet was in with us, I'm sure both kittens were convinced that mommy hated them as I held them steady for the rectal thermometer. Oh, the back legs a-flailin'...
No retaliation was attempted for the duration of the visit or the drive home. In fact, Friday cuddled with me all day, as if to say, "All's forgiven, I looooove you!"
Suckaaaaaaaaaah....
About 8:30 in the evening, I decided to lay down and watch some TV. Friday hopped up on the bed with me, and as I prepared for him to curl up next to me, he deviated from his usual routine and started to walk over me. I didn't have to wonder long what he was up to, as he promptly backed up and tried to make his sphincter meet my forehead.
I said, "Not without dinner first, you don't!"
Well, no, I didn't...actually, I said, "DO NOT PUT YOUR ASS ON MY FACE! That's crossing the line!"
He stopped, turned around, and stared down at me with his huge, innocent eyes. And then he sneezed, right in my face. Big, wet, sea spray mist sneeze. Right in my face.
I have a hunch he hasn't forgiven the thermometer in the butt yet.
Katy Barzedor proclaimed this to be so at 2:18 AM
7 of you felt the overwhelming need to say somethin':
I guess it just takes a while to forgive a rectal thermometer attack. An attack in which your mother was an accomplice, no less.
Does Friday act up more on Friday?
Good to see that you have boundaries. Don't be a butt head.
I was thinking, now that Nils is selling himself for $5, are you still gonna stay at $2? You could go up a bit and still be competitive.
Spray in the face? Not bad.
Teabagged by a small critter?
OMG, been there-done that.Ick.
Pugs are notorious for teh sea spray. Especially when you're in the middle of a yawn...*gack*
Oh man! Yoshi was sneezing last week and got me a few times too Serious ick. And that rectal thermometer thing. The look on the cat's face almost makes it worth while.
I hope your little guys are feeling better soon. And no revenge is sought.
I hope the kitties are feeling better. Alex vomited this morning, while he was snuggling up to me in bed. He’s OK now, but it was traumatic for both of us for a few minutes.
I'd say something appropriately sympathetic and all, but I'm laughing too damn hard at the visual of him backing up to your face and then turning right on cue for the sneeze. Boy got his mama's flair for the dramatic!
Sigh...they are truly the universe's most diabolical creatures. Many years ago, I'd just brought Willie home from being emasculated by the vet. He was still suffering from the anesthesia-induced "drunkard's walk". He staggered over to the bed and hauled himself up onto the pillow, swaying gently back and forth and gazing deeply into my eyes. As I was thinking to myself, "Aw, the little guy has forgiven me and wants a little Willie-Mom time," he squatted by my head, and - continuing to look DEEPLY into my eyes - pissed on the pillow, inches from my head.
- Lotus Lynn
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