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April 9th 2009

    The cat and I have visited the vet.  He took it all in stride, but I had to lie down for a while.  And some time this evening the wife gets home.  So all is well.

    It was an abscess on his back.  They shaved the area, rummaged around, flushed it out, and everyone remarked upon what a good cat he is.   He looks a little strange now, but is obviously feeling better because he settled for fixing his own breakfast at around three o'clock this morning.  I know this because he came upstairs to tell me, and even offered to share.

    A behavior I usually frown upon, but under these circumstances I decided to call endearing. 

 

    I have for a long time understood that he is a serial killer, with a particular rage against rabbits.  He seems to enjoy torture.  He eats feathers, but not the hind parts of rodents.  He is wary of snakes and hosepipes.  And when his night is over he likes sleeping in the sun.

    But like me he is seasonal.  He does not like windiness or unnecessary dampness.  He does not like cold or heat.  In Spring when the sap is rising, he generally gets damaged working his domain. 

    We also share a certain elderliness, a commitment to routine, a fondness for the same armchair, and a memory of each other that often includes affection.

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