“Yes, I’m up. I am. I’m awake. Really.”
I worked really late last night and the kitties patiently kept me company. Tigger in his usual spot, sprawled on my desk, some part of him behind the screen, Zizi napping in my closet. Or so I thought.
When I finished, Tigger struggled to snap out of his snoozey state; he sat up even, but kept falling back asleep.
Meanwhile, Zizi had not been wasting time napping. She had assiduously shredded all the toilet paper in my bathroom. She likes to perch on the toilet seat lid, balancing on her one hind leg and her tail, and use her front paws to shred maniacally.
Looking mega sheepish, the culprit darted away and hid under the sofa, so I didn’t get a photo of her in action. I did laugh as much as I was annoyed with her.
I thought I’d spare you the view of the loo. Let’s just say it looks like a sci fi film set. There is toilet paper in three rooms. I let it be, she can play with it, but the loo is now totally out of bounds to her. Grr.
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One of our dogs died Friday. We rushed her to the Bombay SPCA because it’s the only all-night vet hospital we know of. They treated her with a callous irresponsibility we are still raging against. She would have died anyway, she was badly hurt, but they certainly protracted our pain and hers (the subject of a complaint letter that has been circulated widely now). But what stays beyond to haunt me beyond my grief is the horror of the place. Remember how the Scarecrow in Batman visits upon someone an image of their deepest abhorrence? For me, this would be it. In an atmosphere of despair that sucks your soul dry, abandoned and sick animals cry all the time. Howls, whimpers, almost-human shrieks rent the night. Anyone with a brain and a heart would be tormented. I’m never going there again. p.s. please don’t post condolence comments.