I'm working up to telling you about myself

I got bored sitting in the hall on the laundry bag so now I'm blocking Ron's view of the screen. He's telling me that he really appreciates how I have all this long hair and I hardly ever throw it up. (NP, the Alfie soundtrack, "Old Habits Die Hard." Ron will mist up if we don't move right along here.)

Anyway, when Ron got me he was really really allergic to vets. It seems the top cat before me left and Ron had told the vet he didn't want that to happen. When I got here, there weren't any non-humans at all. If there had been a dog there already, I would have asked her if she could smell a cat, etc. etc. The dog would naturally tell me more than I wanted to know; they always do.

Since there was no dog, I was smelling the air for food and then I got under the bed and stayed there forever. Ron is what they call an "experienced" cat person so he knew that I'd be ok if I just slept a few more hours more than usual. But he got really bored waiting for me to come out from under the bed during daylight hours so now I have a brother cat and a brother dog. I don't mind them; it's more food for me to steal.

Back to the vet. Ron never took me to one until my breath was really foul. This was a problem because by now I had come out from under the bed and I was getting a lot of invitations. It didn’t really bother me if the paparazzi thought I smelt bad but it was awkward on the set. So Ron was “experienced” enough to know I needed the dental work he always hoped I’d avoid because he’s cheap and hates vets.

So off we went to the Humane Society Clinic for a pre-dental checkup. Ron sprung for a blood test like the sport he is, and it came back “Yikes!” It seemed my “kidneys” were struggling to keep up with all the crap in my body. And this had to be fixed before my poor aching teeth could be pulled. Ron isn’t stupid, but if he had realized how gregarious I am when I don’t have a toothache, this wouldn’t have waited.

So for six weeks Ron “tricked” me into eating special semi-moist nuggets with an antibiotic inside. Since it’s not bad here, and I do sleep a lot anyway, I went along and long story short, four of my molars were useless and pulled. I only eat soft canned food and ground raw food (shut up, Ron, I will *not* tell them it’s balanced. I don’t give a f***.) So I could care less about all this worrying Ron does, and now that I don’t have to endure pain between my mouth and my kidneys I’m accepting a lot more invitations.

Problem is, all this means we have to find a more convenient, equally inexpensive vet to torture Ron and help me get better. But I am better: now, I’ve settled down into a bread loaf right in front of Ron as he types this. (God, I *hate* this Alfie soundtrack!)