Cone of Shame
My Halloween was celebrated early, which I will blog about later.
My actual Halloween was spent sitting in a vet's office with my black cat in an old tangerine crate, glaring balefully at me through the air holes. He suffered in the indignities of poking and prodding and awkward thermometers, being shaved, and having his wound painfully cleaned out. Tonight, he's been glaring at me with eyes filled with betrayal, peering out from inside his cone of shame.
Now he's locked up in the bathroom, since he is clever enough to twist around until he fits through the cat door even with the ridiculous 'Elizabethan collar.' So I feel like a terrible person, listening to the wailing meows echoing down the hallway, accompanied by the sounds of plastic scraping along the wallpaper, and the thudding of a fury body into the door. Here's to sleeping with earplugs to drown out the pitiful cries of my favorite furry friend. Just look at those doleful eyes!
My actual Halloween was spent sitting in a vet's office with my black cat in an old tangerine crate, glaring balefully at me through the air holes. He suffered in the indignities of poking and prodding and awkward thermometers, being shaved, and having his wound painfully cleaned out. Tonight, he's been glaring at me with eyes filled with betrayal, peering out from inside his cone of shame.
Now he's locked up in the bathroom, since he is clever enough to twist around until he fits through the cat door even with the ridiculous 'Elizabethan collar.' So I feel like a terrible person, listening to the wailing meows echoing down the hallway, accompanied by the sounds of plastic scraping along the wallpaper, and the thudding of a fury body into the door. Here's to sleeping with earplugs to drown out the pitiful cries of my favorite furry friend. Just look at those doleful eyes!
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