Hello World, Billy Bob here. I want to report a most insulting situation foisted on my by my humans. I love and respect them and all, but they certainly have no notion of what they have done to me this time.
This afternoon, a sore from a bite wound that I received a few days ago--one that the humans saw only as a crusty place on my ear--broke open. It had swollen a bit, and it was itchy, so I scratched it. Big deal. Except when I scratched it, blood started going everywhere and the humans got quite excited. Blood on the floor of the kitchen. Big deal. I climbed into the bathtub to relax (one of my favorite spots) and they found blood all over there, too. Marilyn started stroking me so that I wouldn't scratch my ear, and Gary got the carrier, and they took me to the 24 hour veterinarian on Lamar. Not my usual doctor and staff (whom I know quite well), but decent folks, I thought.
Well, it turns out that the new veterinarian thought that my scratching was a problem. She gave me this totally ridiculous collar to wear--fits around my head like a dish--so I can't scratch my ear for a week. And I can't go outside either.
I don't know if I'll make it through the week, frankly. And the humans aren't sure either. I feel like a bubblehead--my sleek cat ways of slithering silently from place to place have become a series of big-headed bumbles. And the sheer indignity of my position is an insult to my status as big dude-cat of the world. We are all pretty miserable about this.
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