The Real Truth About Cats and Dogs

We’ve had a quiet week this week – an afternoon with Sunny and that’s about it.  We’re still resting up and letting nature and medicine take their respective courses to allow the old bones (or NOT her bones, as we now know after considerable expense) to heal.  The injections which are supposed to aid with the healing of cartilage don’t seem to be making much of a difference so I suppose the plus side to that is that we can narrow the injury down further.  I gave the fabulous one a bath this afternoon and she had a bit of a crazy half minute before I got to her with the towel after which she pulled up limping quite badly.

I was watching Flo having a drink from the cats’ bowl this evening.  Each time she came up for air a liberal amount of liquid would be redistributed from her mouth to the kitchen floor.  I think about 90% of the water she lapped up was swallowed and the rest is now a slippery indication of the route which she has taken around the house.  I am left wondering if she has some sort of water-retaining pouch within her jowls which is set to release its contents in a steady stream, a little like Hansel & Gretel leaving a trail of crumbs in the forest, just in case she should forget where the cats’ bowl is.  In contrast, when Flo had emptied the bowl (one way or another) and I had re-filled it, I watched Fergus daintily and quietly have a drink.  No mess.  No fuss.  No dribbles.

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