We took Comma and Sir William Purrington to the vet to get neutered yesterday. They love the carriers; as soon as I bring them out, they jump in. (To play, not because they know we’re taking them somewhere.)
Case in point: Bag O’ Comma.
When we picked them up post-surgery, they were both wearing cones. Cats use their whiskers for navigation, so as soon as we got them home, they proceeded to walk right into stuff: chair legs, walls, our legs. Add to that the fact that they were walking bow-legged, like little cowboys, and it looked like we’d gotten our kittens drunk.
Then they had to figure out how to eat and drink with the cones on. That was a messy lesson.
They’re not supposed to be running around, jumping, or play fighting, but of course they did all three of those things within minutes of arriving home. YOU try explaining “bed rest” to kittens!
They love it when we scratch them inside the cones, though. Pure bliss:
More pictures of the adorably-coned kittens on my Flickr!
Ok, so I promised to post weekly and then let over three weeks go by. In my defense, fiction writers are very good liars. Technically it counts as “honing the craft.”
But writers are not immune to guilt. So please allow me to bribe you with some bonus kitten pictures. I even lolcat’d them for you, because that’s how much I care. They’re all of Sir William–what can I say, he’s just more photogenic than Comma. (Don’t tell Comma.)
In other news, both kittens are getting neutered tomorrow. I don’t know if they’ll be getting Cones of Shame, but if they do, you can bet there’ll be pictures. Don’t worry–I’ll be giving them all the catnip they can handle until they’re back to their old selves!