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Saturday, March 18, 2017

The Wounded Warrior Part 1,000

I mentioned the other day that my boy Rocco was having trouble climbing onto the bed. He’s not the superhero he used to be. Well, after his heroic cot climb Wednesday (I made steps out of books to help!) he hurt one of his bad legs badly – possibly making a leap he shouldn’t have or maybe he fell off the bed. Dunno.

He was totally dragging his back end to the point that I was all panicked and worried. Is he on his way out? Is he nearing the end? I CAN’T DEAL WITH MORE DEATH THIS YEAR! Yes, I know Rocco’s a cat – an old boy (he was an outdoor ferally sort for his first ten + years) too. Rocco’s not my molto adored, tragically-too-soon-departed partner of 30 years. Got that. Understood. Still, he’s been a sweet (if outré-ly funny) companion for a lot of years. The Amazing Bob’s the one who enlightened me re: How To Catch a Wild One and Make Him Your Odd but Lovable Baby Kitten. We have Rocco entirely because of TAB's gentle craftiness.

Yes, this is about my beloved too. That Berlin vaca high's begun to fade – I've come crashing back to this TAB-less earth.
Before the Fall

At breakfast Thursday I told Jen of my awful Rocco fears. I did mention though that his appetite was strong, he was using his litter box and, when pats and chin skritches were administered, he purred. Jen, as uszh, calmed me down. Mostly. He may have just strained a muscle nastily. Let’s wait and see.

Sure enough (because Jen is always right) Friday morning he was fine – just a wee, almost unnoticeable limp. He was up to all his usual behaviors – sitting on the bed under my reading lamp, following me around as I futzed about, letting me know that he could really do with another treat. HURRAY!

And then Friday was stressful for him. Helen, John and Julianna were here. John was working on my kitchen floor so there was banging. Rocco doesn’t do well with bangs or “strangers” (i.e., anyone besides me, TAB and Jen) in the house. He gets scared. Yes, even when he’s given his space, when NO one messes with him. Just like a lot of us, when all jitter-ridden our boy doesn’t think things through as well as he should. He leaped into one of his closet hidey holes and, boom, refucked up the back leg.


Jen suspects that this is Rocco’s con. When illin', he gets all the tuna, baked haddock, treats AND catnip he can stand. Ya know the old saying – feed a cold, fever, strain, broken bone, gaping flesh wound and any other malady for that matter. C'mon! That is SO the saying!

I’m somewhat more calm/less frenzied this morning. Our fraidy-cat hero’s survived much worse.
‘scuse me, gotta go give him a little more kitty-weed.

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