|Clint Eastwood WISHES he had this steely glare.|
Yesterday in the late afternoon, I found him ON THE BED in a lovely patch of sun. He'd managed to scale the, mebbe, 18" of boxspring and mattress all on his very own! When I brought his din-din up later, he allowed that he preferred it in his usual dining area (by the window) instead of at bedside. All this and he used both his new and old litter boxes. I'd put a new one, with lower containment walls, out for him – this one is, apparently, for pee while the tall walled one is for poops. K. Whatever works.
Of course I was all mega jubilant – MY BOY IS HEALED! This morning though, he's awake and alert but not keen on getting outta bed. Also, he wanted catnip/tuna treats instead of his regular brekkie.
Ya know, I totally get that he might be workin' this lame shit. Hells bells, I sure would.
All the same, I think I'm gonna call in the mobile vet. A friend turned me on to Doctor Jo's Travelling Pet Clinic.
offering mobile veterinary services to the South Shore area of Massachusetts including Weymouth, Quincy, Hingham, Braintree, Cohasset, and surrounding areas in Plymouth and Norfolk counties.YES! Last time I looked for a mobile/visiting vet, willing to come down to the South Shore, there was none. Jen talked to some crotchety asshole in Boston who was willing to visit but he had a thousand and one fiats. Basically, he made it abundantly clear that he didn't want to come down here to Valhalla for an illin' feral-ish boy. Yeah, fuck you asshole! Luckily, Rocco healed up all on his own.
Fuss, fuss, fuss, fuss, fuss.
|I'm sick woman, get the goddamned camera OUT of my face!|