If you don't like reading about cat pee, skip this post

When last I left you, I was feeding pills to Tom Servo the cat (not Tom Servo the robot). After a day of feline languidity and sluggishness and letting himself go (apparently cats can get really bad dandruff), he perked up and peed all over our favorite (but broken) couch.

Jim decided to chuck the whole piece of couch and move the remaining un-peed-on sectional portion to face the TV, granting us several square feet of freed up space in the room.

Unfortunately, chucking the whole piece of couch now makes us look like a trash house because that couch piece is now sitting in our front yard, just waiting to be turned into permanent housing for mice, voles, rats, birds, and various deadly viruses. It also doesn't match the hostas. It is also visibly tattered because there aren't any cushions on it and the bottom lining is partially torn off and it waves in the wind.

I like the larger feel to the room now that the couch is just a single piece, but I miss being able to lie down on the couch. In my opinion, couches are not to sit on; they are for lying down on. It's weird not to be able to put my feet up. So Jim bought an ottoman (with storage!) and now I can put my feet up once again.

So anyway, back to the cat. He peed on the couch. We gave him a bath because he smelled so bad. He didn't like it much (at all) and Jim liked it even less (he got scratched). I talked to the cat in my "soothing the feline" voice (yes I do have a voice for that) all the while sloshing water around his back end. I tried to dry him off, but he would have none of it, and he ran down stairs and hid behind the water softener

Servo spent Wednesday lying around some more and doing his best to forgive us for the bath. He did eat a little and peed a lot (in the right place, thank goodness) so we thought he was on the mend.

Then this morning I came home exhausted from seminary. I had had a headache most of yesterday and one of my eyes felt like I was gouging it with a mediumly sharpened pencil (I checked several times; I wasn't gouging with anything). I woke up this morning with no headache, but still very very tired.  I determined that I would take a nap before heading to work at 8. Jim offered to call and wake me up.

So I hopped in bed, snuggled up into the most comfortable position possible and was just about to drift off into power nap mode, when I heard a most hideous mewling.

Servo was doing his pitiful, low, full throated meow/cry. Over and over. I thought, Oh crap, he's sick again. He's had a relapse; he's vomited or something and he's dying now. I hopped out of bed and he was there at my door, sitting up as pretty as ever...

with his Polly Pocket dress toy.

He wanted to play fetch.

I cursed him roundly for making me think he was two feet, a tail, and several whiskers in the grave, when all he wanted was for me to toss the Polly Pocket dress down the stairs so he could chase after it and bring it back to me (as long as I'm not looking at him) and then do it all over again for hours.

And here we are, three hours later, and he is still waiting, looking at me with his Polly Pocket dress at his paws.

Be right back. Or not.

(Yes, my boy kitty plays with Polly Pocket dresses. He's secure in his neutered manliness)