It is a fact of our life together that without her pointy claws, when she wants me to get out of bed, she just punches me way harder than normal. She is the bee's pyjamas.
Vet visits are always traumatic. I'm so glad she has her usual clean bill of health (as far as our disabled kitties can). And yeah, that mental adjustment to "not actually dying right now" can change everything. I have to remind myself of it frequently as I observe Marzipan's arthritic limp. Pobrecita. But not dying!
I can't believe they called it Pobrecita. That sounds like a pretty, Latina sort of name! I resolve to call it Fuck You if You Think You Can Hold Me Back, You Jackholes Syndrome.
She hardly ever wants The Love, but when she wants it, it's like she wants to make up for all the times she didn't want it. She'll stay and stay and stay, all purring and hinting about pets, and needing to know everything about everything.
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