The Caturday Post

OLIVER CAME HOME FRIDAY after a week in hospital. And why was Oliver in hospital you ask? Well, really! If you aren’t following these adventures on Facebook, why should you expect me to recap here? And, since here is, at least in part, also Facebook, and if you’re following this there, you might be REALLY confused.

Which state I will not act to relieve. It’s more fun for me if you go around looking all, “Huh?”

But: Oliver.

His tail is fine until you get to within about 2½” of the tip, then there’s no hair. Or skin. Well, there might be skin. ‘Cause it does look sort of skin-and-bone. All there is is this thing that looks a bit like a cigarette with no filter or ash (except it does have ash, sort of, which I’ll explain in a minute). The “rolling papers” would be some kind of fuzzy material (which is actually like white hairs, which surprises the hell out of me, because the reaction Oliver had to getting his tail caught in the window and Toni’s reaction to the tail after it got caught in the window led me to believe that there was nothing left but naked bone — which would have looked kind of cool, in a sick and twisted way. But, as it turns out, there is still something there covering the bone, and since it’s growing hair, it must be skin.

But it’s weird looking. But I promised not to tease Oliver about it, because ::whispers:: he’s kinda sensitive about it. Kinda like Obama and his ears.

Well. No. Not really. I just made that up for comedic effect.

But the ash part. The very tip of the tail is black and looks like it might be necrotic tissue. That’s apparently cause for some concern, though about what I don’t know enough to report. I suspect they may have to “go back in.” (Do you “go in” to a tail?) The black part is about the size in proportion to the rest of the tail of the ash to a 100mm cigarette being smoked.

No. I haven’t. Not for more than 10 years. Why do you ask?

Anyway, that’s the update on Oliver. He’s cheerful enough and seems to have adapted to having a partially naked tail.

Karma and Aqua got into it again Friday evening. That’s not really news. They do that several times a day. It was in the downstairs bathroom, and the fur did fly.

I can tell by the scattering of a delightful set of fall calico colors in little pulled-out-by-the-roots tufts all over the floor in there. And Aqua was trotting around with little divots in her coat that looked like Karma got a piece of her.

Yes. Karma is a bitch.

But Ms Bevacqua. (That’s her last name — Aqua Bevacqua.) She’s not entirely pleasant, either, except when she want’s something from either me or Loki. (But she can’t stand Earnie.)

And I suspect she doesn’t like being called Doublewide, although I keep telling her she’d feel better about it if she’d just own it with pride. She just doesn’t get the concept. Poor girl.

Butt-tennyway. They got into it, I suspect, almost by accident. One of them must have body-slammed the other into the door. It slammed shut and — onaccountacuz no thumbs — they couldn’t open it again, so they were trapped and, like a pair of Kilkenny cats, they rowled and fought until I banged the door open, at which point they each shouldered the other aside in their haste to escape.

Divots and all.

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