The kittens are currently at the vet’s, waiting to be spayed and neutered and chipped and vaccinated against the rabies. They were all excited when I opened the doors to their rooms this morning, far earlier than I usually do, and then confused when I tossed them all in the carrier. They’re such good monkeys; they didn’t howl even once on the way to the vet’s office, and in fact they curled up together and slept most of the way, except when I was singing along with Natalie Merchant (Beloved Wife always just gets me right HERE), and then they sat up and looked at me and said “It’s not enough that you’ve thrown us all in a box and are driving us over a bumpy road to an unknown destination, you also have to SING? Our young and tender ears cannot withstand your caterwauling, lady.” So I stopped singing.
At the vet’s, I helped the woman running the front desk weigh all the kittens. Callie was far and away the heaviest, at 3 pounds 3 ounces, Smitty and Barrett were each 3 pounds, and Sugarbutt was the lightest at 2 pounds 6 ounces.
On a side note, Fred called when I was leaving the vet’s, and I said “Sad Eyes weighed the least. He’s only gained about 2 ounces since he saw the vet last week.”
And Fred said “Who?”
“Sad Eyes,” I said.
“Who is Sad Eyes?”
“Oh. I mean, Sugarbutt.”
“His real name is Sad Eyes?”
“Yes,” I said.
“What an awful name. No wonder you gave him a nickname!”
If everything goes well, I’ll be picking the little brats up late this afternoon, and tonight they’ll probably be running around like their tails are on fire as if nothing ever happened.
I spent the morning cleaning the house, and cleaned all the nasty little marks they’ve left on the carpet in both rooms. Between the clean carpet, the clean litter boxes, and the fresh litter, they won’t know what is going on.
Every evening, Bear and Smitty jump up on the pillow on my lap and sleep all evening long while I watch TV.
Smitty looks to see if he can get a little love from Miz Poo. (He cannot.)