So, I get home from buying the cutest brown walking shoes ever* to discover that the dog is bleeding and my blanket smells like cat pee**.
It’s funny, because whenever Mrs. Wigglebottom is in distress about something, she’s very good about making sure you see it, give her the sympathy she needs, and then take care of it.
You can’t cut her toenails without more crying and moaning and whimpering than you’ve ever heard, but if you need to pour rubbing alcohol into a wound full of blood and tick while digging at it with a pen knife, she’s totally calm and willing to lay there for it.
So, I got home, sat down to tell you all about my darling brown sneakers, and she came and put her head right in my lap until I noticed the gash in her ear. It doesn’t appear to be serious, more a matter of wounded pride than anything, but my god, the cats are strutting around like they just conquered Russia.
Anyway, as a favor to the rest of you, I will be keeping my cats out of Nashville’s parks, because, clearly, they are vicious brutes who cannot be left alone with poor Mrs. Wigglebottom, let alone other people’s dogs.
As for Mrs. Wigglebottom, I gave her my pickles and half my fries and by the time I was done with my quarter pounder, she seemed like her old self.
*Thank you Corporate Shill & Legal Eagle for the gift certificate and the Professor for the ride and the adventure.
**Perhaps from the comforter “incident.”