I am in the dog house. And I've been put there by the cat. I am apparently good enough to open cans and dish out food and good enough to hang on the end of the leash when he wants to go out and read the news. Otherwise I am persona non toucha. I have the claw and bite marks to prove it.
Can't say I blame him. Yesterday morning at 7:30 I loaded him into the cat carrier and took him to the Torturer and his apprentices. (Known to hew-mans as "the vet")
There they gave poor Salvador his annual physical, his vaccinations, then knocked him out with some dreadful chemical substance and cleaned his teeth. (They pulled two of them) and then while he was still comatose they shaved off about 80% of his fur.
He looks silly. They left his head, legs and tail unshaved. They really should have shaved his legs and left a puff on the end of a shaved tail. He would have looked just like a mini-lion. Now he just looks like a moth-eaten stuffed toy in a velvet jumper.
He felt so sore when he came home, and I felt so sorry for him. Poor puss, he couldn't even take a drink of water. But he's eating again now, and seems comfortable, if a little more dozy than usual.
But there's no kitty on my bed, no kitty in my lap. He now loves only his Papa and is making a point of it by snuggling up to his Papa and offering belly-rubs. Oh sure. Papa can rub the velvet belly. I'm drooling to get my hands on that apricot-coloured velvet coat and he sticks out the claws if I even come close.
I have to sneak in a quick feel while he sleeps. See for yourself. Could you keep your hands off those soft folds? Funny. He has no stripes at skin level. The little striations you see in the picture are clipper marks. Oh, now I'm just obsessing. Time to find something else to do.