I’ve been holding off on reports about our new cat, Saki, in the hopes that I could hide what a ridiculous old poof I am, but I suppose I have to give in the inevitable. He is simply too cute to ignore.
We took him into the vet (speaking of cute, you should have seen the humpalicious new vet they have there. Every time he passed through the waiting room, the heads of R Man, Super Agent Fred and me swiveled to follow him like a cat watching a finch and he seemed just about as nervous as one, too.) Anyway, our very sweet vet confirmed that he didn’t think Saki was 3 years old like the cat pound people had said, that he’s more like 10 months old, just out of being a kitten. Yay, I adore being right. If only I had won the humpy vet as a prize for my insights.
Saki as already taken over the house, in just a week. Initially sweet and adorable, now he’s adorable and ferocious, a real boy cat. He sleeps with R Man and obviously has characterized me as “The Other One.” Fine, I don’t care, I’m his slave.