I'm healthy!

Mom and the big guy put me in this bag today—boy was I mad!—and she took me outside; when she started running with me, I started crying: "WHAT are you trying to DO?" She got into this dark, crowded place with people; said it was a "bus" and that it would be "okay."

Well, we got to this place where people had their dogs, so I started crying again, louder than I ever do; she was talking to a friend of hers, and I decided it wasn't doing much good, so I decided to be quiet.

Eventually, she picked my bag up and went into another room, where there was this big "Grizzly Adams" kind of guy who looked me over, looked at my eyes and teeth, and put me on this metal thing to "weigh" me, whatever that is. "Ten pounds," he said. He said I looked good, and Mom was happy.

"Now with this FIP, would I be able to bring other cats into the house?" she asked.

"What he has is a coronavirus, and it's never turned into FIP," Grizzly Adams said. "Kittens who pick up the virus can become very sick, and they die, but this one got lucky; it's like people from my generation who have never had mumps or measles. Nowadays they vaccinate for everything, so nobody gets mumps, but in my day everybody used to have mumps; it was a regular childhood disease. For instance, I was never vaccinated, and I never got it."

"So I could take in an older cat, probably?" Mom asked. "One who wouldn't be vulnerable to getting it?"

"I think it would be safe," said the man.

Mom said she might start looking for another cat for me—if only to keep that dog on his toes; I'm not sure how I feel about that.

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