Babette, the old furry girl
I promise I will blog about my wonderful writers’ retreat soon.
I arrived home to my cat, who has been losing weight though eating, looking pretty darned pathetic. So I have spent the morning with her at the vet.
They’ve run bloodwork, and will be doing some more tests to try to find out what is going on with her.
I’m worried. I love her like she’s one of my kids. In fact, I’ve had her since Mr. Cynic was a toddler. They grew up together. Of course, she grew up a lot faster. I looked at the aging chart in the vet’s office while we were waiting to be seen. She’s approximately 74 in kitty years. She’s beautiful, she’s regal, she is very displeased about her visit to the vet today, but she is being very good for them.
Though when it comes to the Evil Eye, she has cursed us all to at least seven generations.
However, there’s a wonderful tiny little pill that they sent home with me to give to Lucy, too.
“You should see the fleas just dropping off of her within 30minutes. It just kills them dead. Within four hours, no more fleas, guaranteed. It’s disgusting, by the way.”
I haven’t found a trail of fleas carcasses as of yet, but I did dose the dog as soon as I arrived home.