Smokey gets a gold star but would rather have tuna!

Sweet

Adorable and gorgeous george Mr. Smokey, laid-back lover of everyone who walks through the door, tipped the scales at 9.5 kilos (21 pounds) when we took the two fur babies to the vet for their annual vaccinations  at the end of March. His doom-de-doom doom was sealed. The vet put him on a diet.

Today was weigh in day, a week early, but the vet's office was anxious to see if he was sticking to his diet (more than likely more worried that I was sticking to plan than him).

This time he was the trip's screamer, but then Ian put him in the very back of the hatch, where he couldn't see his Mama. We pulled over half-way there and Ian moved the crate up so I could reach in and touch him, and he could see he wasn't being shanghied to serve in a pirate's crew and he settled down to a snarky sort of grumble.

I wasn't sure if he'd lost any weight or not, so I was very pleasantly surprised when the technician put him on the baby scale and announced he'd lost almost a full pound and was right on track. This is the equivalent of a 90 kilo (200 lb) man losing 4.8 kilos or 9 pounds. Well done Smokey!  

Pointy!

Hobbes, our Red Devil in a cat suit had his pink nose right out of joint yesterday after his Papa scolded him for climbing into the refrigerator. 

He is indomitable, until he isn't. His feelings get hurt, and then he slinks around like you've beaten him with a horsewhip.

We had visitors come for dinner last night. He usually loves people but last night he alternated between cowering behind the furniture, creeping out to sniff our guests and freaking out when they noticed him, or spoke to him. 

Silly boo. A good night's sleep and he was fine, but his widdle feelings were awful bad hurt when his Papa said kitties can't play in the fridge. He figures if it's here it belongs to him!