Tigger the cat returned home yesterday about mid morning. He still wasn't up to par, so I put him in his favorite place in the house, the jungle room. The jungle room is a bedroom and the name pretty much sums up the decor.....Elvis would be proud.
Tigger spent about eight hours sleeping off whatever was ailing him. When he woke up, I immediately took him to the small heated shop in the garage and he headed straight for the litter box. I will spare you the details of that endeavor, least to say it was NASTY.
This cat stays close to home, the only time he leaves the yard is to visit the next door neighbor. Our yards are side by side, so he isn't crossing a street or alley to get there. This knowledge ruled out the possibility of him having been hit by a vehicle. The only thing he eats, besides cat food, is birds. I knew he had eaten one before he got sick because he had left a good sized portion for me on the deck.
Maybe the bird was sick too. Maybe the finches set up Finny da Finch as a patsy to get back at the cat for all the previous members Tigger had disposed of. The answer may never be known.
The cat is much better this morning. He is responding to touch with his gentle snorting purr, arching his back and stretching in the warm sunshine. He has not seen Runtly yet, and may still not feel up to a tussle with the white bullet, aka, jaws of steel, aka, never ending boundless ball of energy.
Runtly, on the other hand, found a lovely pile of decomposing cat doo in the yard yesterday and proceeded to eat as much of it as possible before I could stop him. If you think it smells bad the first time around, let me assure you the second time is much worse. Especially when it was left under my desk and not in the designated potty area.
My proofreader suggested perhaps it was a gift from the dog...... More like a GAG gift.
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