But we are cautiously optimistic that the lump in his throat is getting better under steroid treatment.
The dog better look out, though. Milo may kick the stuffing out of him in a fit of ‘roid rage…
It’s hard to focus on the good when illness has struck a tiny tyrant.
Plenty is just fine chez nous, and we have much to be grateful for. But John found a grape-sized lump on Milo’s larynx on Friday. At the vet, they found he had a fever of 106 – very, very high. An expensive battery of tests has told us… well, almost nothing, except he doesn’t have an infection. He has been out of sorts and punky, spending lots of time in the cool sanctuary of the basement. He appreciates visits, but hasn’t been seeking us out with his usual insistent regularity. His meow is a croak, and his purr sounds like a fork dragged across asphalt.
Wee Milo is not well. And it’s got us well and truly tweaked.
That’s all I got. How are you?
More of Simon’s Cat!
I realized last night that Milo is a performance artist.
What else could explain his strange habit of putting the top of his head on stuff?
Performance art. It’s the only explanation.
(My friend Adam once said that “Performance art is a personality disorder with a grant.” I’m thinking I now know where Milo gets the money for his designer kitty bed and blinged-out toys. I blame myself for being duped into buying him the nuclear kitty ganja in the Kitty Can’t Cope sacks. He can clearly afford to buy them himself.)
Yeah. We’re easily amused.
This morning started with some Santa Hat silliness:
Some of the zoo were less into this idea:
And some are game for anything:
John got power tools, because he’s been a very good boy this year:
Brian and I took a walk with Tosh:
And all that’s left is to make and eat a fabulous dinner and wish everyone a safe, happy, and healthy new year:
All the best to you and yours.
We had a good Thanksgiving.
Some cats had some nice lounging
The meal seemed to go over well:
I made a particularly pretty pie:
And Mom indulged in the creation of a bunch of teeny sweaters – it was like a particularly cute obsession acted out in scraps of leftover sock yarn:
And finally, we’re currently sitting here deconstructing the performance art piece that is John hanging lights on the Christmas tree. It’s rather nice.
We’re doing Thanksgiving at our house this year – our usual routine is to go to my aunt’s, but she’s had an emergency in her family, so we dropped back, punted, and John’s brining a turkey this very minute.
As the household baker, I am in charge of pies. Mom and I powered through pumpkin and had the apple in the oven, when I came in to see Dash on the counter and this:
Dead. Cat. Walking.
You wouldn’t think he was evil, to look at him:
Anyway, there’s another pie in the oven. Happy Thanksgiving to my American friends, and happy Thursday to the rest of the world.