Meow

The Pesky is a sick kitty. No, not just in the head; physically, at least this week. She's normally the one who follows any available hunim wherever they might be going in the house (they might be in the vicinity of food, see?).She's vocal, and annoying - especially when watching movies on the laptop, since her favourite occupation is striding across the keyboard or sitting in front of the screen to wash her nethers. Lovely.

On Monday, she stopped bleating. Then she lay on the bed and refused to eat. Then, in her lethargy, she refused to speak to us, or clean her fur as obsessively as normal. So off she went to the vet, on Tuesday (not even a peep in the car - highly suspect!) to be prodded and have her temperature taken (a most undignified pursuit, let me tell you).

Eskie hates the vet; she's even worse than Grumpy. Normally it requires three strong men, closed doors and windows, and possibly a lion-tamer's whip to keep her in line. This time, she meowed half-heartedly a few times then consented to being slung over my shoulder.

She had to stay overnight, unfortunately; it was most lonely in bed without my little tumour. MadCat says that when he fetched her, she told him in no uncertain terms that she was unimpressed with her time in the concentration camp.

She's slightly better now, and her vocalisations have changed from their normal pathetic air-bubbles to full-throated yells of outrage at being locked in the bedroom. And she's extra loving.

It's kind of scary, actually.