Conversation With the Cat

Said I: "Annie, you have to eat your food. If you don't eat it, it's not food. It's just stuff that somebody bought for no reason."

Said the cat:

Annie continues to be a finicky eater, which is not good when a supercharged metabolism caused by a hyperactive thyroid is literally starving her to death. Yet she often insists that I feed the food (even the gooey canned food) to her by hand.

Yes, there is medicine for the thyroid but it takes several weeks to have an effect. Meantime, I cannot afford to get into a contest of wills with the cat. Nor, apparently, can I engage her in a contest of wits, as I try to tell her that it's not cat food if the cat doesn't eat it.

She seems unswayed. She will eat with enthusiasm if I hold the food in my hand. Unfortunately, I sometimes go out of the house, leaving the cat to feed herself from the bowl, which seems to be anathema to her now. I don't know how she's lasting.

The Cat Just Drank from the Water Dish

That must mean it's time to clean the toilet from which she usually drinks.

The April Fool

Just for April Fool's Day, Annie vomited on the dining room carpet. Actually, the cat doesn't need a special occasion to puke, sneeze or scratch on some part of my house. Goodness, does she require a lot of work for a low-maintenance animal.

Annie went through a phase recently during which she refused to eat unless I held the food in the palm of my hand. When I related this to my brother Jim he told me that I was going way too far to accommodate my whiny, unsociable and sickly little cat and suggested that I was stuck with a defective pet. OK, he didn't suggest it; he came right out and said, "you have a bad cat."

Later that night, with Annie sitting on my lap, I shared Jim's comments with her. Her retort, clearly expressed with one glance? "I didn't exactly hit the lottery when I got you."

Touche!

Dirty Laundry

I don't air all my dirty laundry on the blog but sometimes I have to share. Check out the laundry basket.


See anything out of the ordinary? No? Look closer. That's not a mink stole on top of the pile. I don't have any such thing and if I did I'd have the sense not to machine wash it. That is a fur coat, however.


Attached to a little pretty kitty who, for some reason, has always enjoyed sleeping on my soiled clothes. Normally they are found only in the laundry basket. In the past, the occasional stray shirt could be found on my bed and, almost invariably, the cat could be found on it, snoozing away.

If only human females found my scent so comforting.