ONE SORRY TABBY
SEATTLE, Washington: My hand puffs more each hour. I type gingerly with six fingers: my right hand rattling away, punctuated with a painful stab of my left thumb. Work sludges along.
Jake remains miserable. He clings, curling in my lap as I write, both paws clasped around my wrist. This position is his kitten-equivalent of thumbsucking, only assumed in moments of high stress (after I rescued him from the shelter, for example, or following a six-week trip).
Naturally, he holds my healthy hand, thereby hindering progress further. But I don't have the heart to pry him loose.
Poor sweetpea!
ReplyDeleteDoes he really fit on your lap, though? Surely not, the lardy thing...
Poor Baby Jake, he's taken SUCH a beating online this week.
ReplyDeleteYes, he ... um ... thickened. But he's within two pounds – 15 percent – of ideal.
And you, anonymous?
What's with all the anonymous posts, anyway?
ReplyDeleteC'mon, folks, how about at LEAST initals or nicknames or pseudonyms, so I'm not yakking into the void here.
into the void?
ReplyDeleteyes, of course.
that's what blogging's for.
otherwise, you'd call Edward.