cimorene

the oldest cat in our household is nearly 11 years old, and can, on a bad day, barely move at all. she has tiny dainty little toothpick-like paws under a huge round body, and i frequently have to lay my hand on her side or stare at her fixedly to reassure myself that she's really breathing, because she doesn't seem to be.

so a few weeks ago, i called my dog, perry, to eat the rest of a bowl of chicken noodle soup, but because she'd already lumbered to her feet and was in the general vicinity she tried to get some of it. she opened her mouth and that no-noise-becasue-the-vocal-cords-don't-work thing happened, which is so pitiful that i'm forced to fall over giggling. so anyway, perry, much more limber and enthusiastic but a bit less intelligent, came over, tail wagging and tags jingling, and walked right into the bottom of the bowl, splashing soup all over himself, moonbeam, and the floor. he took care of the floor, and i wiped it off him, and moonbeam went to hide and glower from under the table. it wasn't until the next day that i realized the white crusty patch on her side was chicken soup.

so today, i finally filled a juice glass with warm water and got two fingerfuls of antibacterial soap, which i massaged into the short fur of the crusty stuff (short because she can't groom the middle of her back and has to be shaved). then i poured warm water on until it trickled down her side and puddled on the floor. i mopped it up with a dish rag. she blinked inquisitively, and finally wobbled to her feet to let me dab the rest of the dampness off her.

all clean!

all in a day's work, folks. ::takes a bow::

[edit: i should probably address this icon to certain people. let me just say that i hope vicious kittens jump out from under hall tables and latch onto their ankles, gnawing, and draw blood and stuff. and then sally backs over their houses with a combine tractor. because yes. back the fuck off.]