Poor Kitty

I just awakened Wesley, my 22 year old kitty, from a sound sleep in order to poke a pill down his throat.  Pill poking isn’t something he tolerates well at the best of times. Being awakened from a sound sleep is not the best of times.

Wesley does not accept the notion that it’s these very pills which are helping him feel well enough to try to shred my hand.  The fight he put up, however, tells me the pills are working.

Tomorrow I’m going back to making “kitty burrito” with a towel before I dose him.

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I have no idea what the title means. Probably nothing. But that’s what showed up when our orange tabby cat, Dennis, walked across the keyboard.

For the record, I didn’t name him.

Now that I look at it again, it’s a fair rendition of the noises I have been making for the last few days with my nose and tissues. Maybe this cat is smarter than I want to think about right now.