Oh hello, friends!
Well, this was a traumatic week for
me and the Squeaker.
Mostly because we went to the Vet. We hadn't been in a couple of years,
and that was mostly my fault.
Veterinarians, and their assistants, too,
are afraid of me.
I pull my "Wild Turkish Street Cat" routine
in their office,
and they nearly wet their pants in fear.
It happened again this time,
so there I was, pretty quickly, with
my face stuffed in a bag, and two people holding onto me with leather gloves
(now don't you think that's a bit excessive?
After all, I am 13 years old,
or maybe older. . . )
I did manage to get a rabies shot and some other dreadful shot out of it.
They wanted to "examine" me,
but no way was I having any of that!
Vets are afraid of me.
They told her not to bring me back there.
Now back to looking for that ball behind the bookcase.
I know it's back here!
I put it here myself!
But I can't see it!
Why can't she just move these shelves?
. . . she just took the camera out again;
I know she wants a shot of me
with my butt in the air.
No way will I lower myself for that!
See ya later,