Jennifer is indisposed, so today's blog entry will be written by the cat.
Yesterday Jennifer had surgery. I think it's minor, but whoever tells me anything. Her foot is wrapped in something and smells weird. No, not like a foot. It's some antiseptic smell, and I don't like it.
My people have put me on a diet. Yes, I realize I am the size of two vats (oops typo), I mean cats, but still. Cats do not overeat. We are self- regulating, unlike dogs who will eat until they explode. I'm just big boned, and need more food.
A side effect of Jennifer's surgery is that she can't feed me. I meow and meow at her, but she just shakes her head and says I'll have to wait for Sean. Her hands are occupied with those odd sticks she seems to be leaning on. Doesn't she know I'm starving?! Crawl woman! Maybe I will tear that bag of food in the cold storage room. Isn't that what claws are for- hunting for food?
I've given up. I can't get the food. Damn the creator for not giving cats thumbs so we too could open doors and work can openers. I know there's tuna in this house. Instead I have gracefully leapt onto the bed to do my kitty duty and comfort the invalid. (Okay, it wasn't graceful. It was a bit of a scramble, but I'm up.) She is comforted, having taken a break from her books and computer to smooth my fur and rub my tummy. I have purred for her pleasure. Eventually she fell asleep, and I, bwahaha, have taken over her blog in her absence. HA! Who needs thumbs anyway?
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Oh well, still hungry.
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