I miss Baxter, our goofy orange cat. I'm allowed to play with the dogs a little, but so far I'm not allowed to be near cats. Apparently, despite their reputation for cleanliness, cats carry litter box residue on their paws and are for now pets non grata. Baxter has been confined to the spare bedroom while my immune system gets itself worked out, and I haven't seen him for months. The other day I crept into his bedroom just to see him, and found him sleeping in the closet, on top of a pad of foam rubber we bought for one craft project or another. He looked up at me, blinked, and hissed.
Fine, you little fink. I risk deadly infection to see you and you hiss at me? Jeez.
Meantime, I'm suffering from a horrible attack of nausea. Chemo, the gift that keeps on giving.
Is That All?
11 years ago
4 comments:
As a character in one of my favorite novels opines, "It's hard to love something that ***** in a box, then looks at you like it's never seen it before while you pick it up."
We have a cat we adopted in 1996--he still hisses if we approach him to ofast.
I went into Baxter's room today again to visit him. He didn't hiss as me, but he DID look like he'd just discovered carrots in his food dish - mean, grumpy and disgusted.
He's mad because he believed that his evil plot to banish you had worked, but--you're back!
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