Get away from me! Shoo! It's my turn to send a message. And it's my turn to complain.Last week, my humans packed me into my carrier cage and took me to what they euphemistically call "camp." I've been there plenty of times before, but I have NEVER suffered the indignities that I suffered this time. When they picked me up, I was wearing a hat.
No, I do NOT think I look cute. Do you think I like looking like an idiot--or a dog. I do NOT. I was just supposed to stay a couple of days, but my female human was worried about my weight (I'm fashionably thin) and wanted my thyroid checked. That means a blood test. I HATE blood tests. Oh yes, note the shaved leg. That's for the tests and surgery. My male human says I look like half a poodle. I hissed at him.
And she alsw wanted a spot on my back checked. I'd been worrying it for a while and licking it and it had gotten hard. "Gnarly" the mean doctor called it. They decided it should be removed. Didn't ask me, thank you very much. I could have told them it was fine, but noooo, they had to remove it.
That means, they put me to sleep. Then they shaved my brown spot. Then they cut me open. And then they cleaned my teeth before stitching me up. I'm bald! I'll be bald until spring. And I can't go outside until this nasty wound turns into a scar.
I'm getting even. I won't leave them alone. Instead of ignoring my humans, I have decided I must be where they are all the time. In laps. Under feet. I'll teach them to leave me alone. And I'll teach them to do all sorts of bad things to me.
My male human was pleased that the gnarly lump was friendly. At least, I think that's what benign means. No more medicines for me. I'm done. Nada. Zip. Nil. Don't even think about it.
