Secret Agent Fred has been staying at Chez peenee for a while and I’m helping him take care of his elderly cat, Steve, by administering doses of antibiotics while Fred is out being a SLUTTY, SLUTTY JEZEBEL WHORE FUDGEPACKING STRUMPET. Not that I mind of course.
What’s striking is the difference between Steve and my cat Saki. Saki is a vicious little shit (he has a permanent big red “CAUTION” on his file at the vet’s and two of my Thanksgiving guests ignored my sternly worded warning to leave him alone, to their later bleeding regret. In their defense, he is adorable. But vicious.) Steve, on the other hand, is the most amenable, affectionate, sociable cat I’ve ever run across. But while I can always get medicine down Saki’s gullet with nothing more than a general air of irritation from him, Steve turns into a whirling dervish, bucking and astonishingly adept at keeping the dropper out of his mouth. He’s fast for an old codger. At least he doesn’t try to scratch. I shudder to think of the damage that Saki could dish out if he disliked getting dosed the way Steve does.
Also, I have a hard time blaming Steve; the medicine smells strongly like old bananas and seems to be upsetting his stomach. Antibiotics do the same thing to me, so I’m sympathetic. Still, his coughing sneezing fits sling cat snot widely, so the sooner all this is behind us the better.
Anyway, here I am granma peenee pottering around with the cats in a frumpy cardigan while Fred is out terrorizing queer bars. NOT THAT I MIND. Of course not. It’s just when I pictured minding pussy in my dotage I was thinking more along the lines of this.