Bob is not a happy cat. His routine has been interrupted. His life is not his to control at the moment. Bob is very ill. Death's Door ill a couple of weeks ago. Bob is feeling better after a denigrating and humiliating visit to the Vet. Medications have been ingested and continue on a twice daily basis. Kidney function seems to be rebounding and that sunken eye ball has come up for air and looks like the left one again.
I think I liked him better when he was a furry lump that didn't care what happened to him. Now that he is feeling better, he wants out. Now that he is feeling better, his displeasure at being force fed pills has resulted in a daily dose of cat bites and clawed flesh for me. I hope I survive the next ten days.
Bob puts up such a fight over the pills, our encounters take on the feel and look of physical violence. Anyone casually spotting me with Bob brutally pinned down and my fingers down his throat might consider me a vicious monster who enjoys hurting animals. My shredded flesh though indicates any abuse from me is met with equal abuse from Bob. Bob more than holds his own in this battle of wills.
My fear is I will alienate Bob before all the pills have been ingested. Turn him against me. But no. It seems that after a couple of hours of being huffy and keeping his distance, Bob forgives me. We rub heads and he begins that crooked and uneven purr of his. Our relationship is sound again. Bob just cannot hold a grudge. Apparently, neither can I.
Keep it 'Tween the Ditches...............
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