[as dictated to Tanya]
I have a new arch enemy—subcutaneous fluids. Mommy insists that I need them. I do not like being poked. At all. It is rude and hurtful. I have done nothing to deserve such abuse.
But Mommy keeps jabbing me. MEOW! That hurt!
And she does it every day. Even on days when I am on my very best behavior. Not fair.
Mommy says my kidneys need a little help, so that’s why she is punishing me with the fluids and other medicine. Whatever. I am perfect, thus my kidneys must be perfect too. She’s just looking for an excuse to hover over me.
She thinks I’m too skinny, so she’s constantly whining at me to eat. And drink. And pee. And poop. And then when I do, she has the nerve—the nerve—to complain. I’m either doing too much or not enough!
She sits at her computer and mumbles to herself. She’s always peering into my ears and mouth. And complaining that my fur is not soft enough. My fur is silky smooth! It’s enough to drive a handsome kitty like me crazy.
Her cure for all that supposedly ails me is subcutaneous fluids. Oh, she thinks she so clever and discreet when she sets up the bag. And how she moans and whimpers when I try to get away. She is such a drama queen! Finally, I take pity as she begs and pleads with me and allow her to stick that harpoon into me.
She promised that she ordered thinner needles. And pinky swore that she was not going to order that stupid kitty jacket on Amazon to hold me while she gives me fluids. As if something could contain my awesomeness.