Thursday, 6 October 2005

Ol' Blue Eyes

My big boy kitty is not feeling well.
He's hairball city, anyway, (he social grooms the others) and now we've gone and switched his food on him, practically asking for floods of upset-tumminess. And he did not disappoint! I spent most of late last night following his heaving, chokey cat self around with paper towels and cleanser.

Once he'd finished, I went to bed. Chumba wanted comfort, so up he jumped and curled right into my arms, purring madly and every-so-often giving a little cough-bark to make sure I realized how very sick he was.
(Oooh, poor me. Purr. Pet the kitty. [shoving limp, exhausted hand with big cat head] PET THE KITTY!) I 'poor-boy'ed him and hummed a bit.

After about an hour of this, my husband woke up, sat up in bed, and said "How come you never sing me Sinatra when I'm sick?"
I burst out laughing. What kind of lyrics would you sing to a cat?

He denies it this morning.

Oh, but you're lovely....
With that fur so soft
Keep that reckless charm
There is nothing for me
But to pet you..
And the way you purr tonight.....

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