So, Ballou, our free, but getting damned expensive, cat, as of today, now sings soprano.
He's just back from the vet's, fitted for one of those plastic cones that makes him look as if he's wearing a collapsed 16th Century ruffled collar, and very unhappy with it.
Layla lies outside the door to the room where we have el gato confined because we are supposed to limit his activity for a while, and to allow her to run up and down the hall and wrestle with him, as well as licking his incisions is not any better than allowing him to do it.
She is also unhappy. What have you done to my cat? Why is he locked away? Inquiring Corgis want to know!
Of course, I have to take the plastic cone off for him to eat or get into the litter box, which has a roof on it, and getting that collar back on? Not a job for anybody with hide less tough than a rhino's.
Never a dull moment.
P.S. Extra points for the first person to get why I used the image above ...