I think our small but mighty band of "fans" are aware of this, but so far Holly is doing well with the heartworm medication--the vet said the meds are in the process of killing the little buggers, then they start floating around her bloodstream and eventually get excreted or something (eww). Since they're in the bloodstream, that's why the animal shouldn't get excited--their heart starts pumping faster and the heartworm corpses could bunch up and cause a clot.
So of course it's pointless to say to her, "Holly, mellow out RIGHT NOW or you're going to die!"
That obviously translates to "OK, Holly, show me how fast you can twirl!" So she starts twirling and I'm yelling at her to stop and Boogie thinks SHE'S being yelled at so she pees all over the kitchen floor, Poonie decides it's time to throw up, and Boo just looks at everyone and thinks, "What a bunch of morons. I need a snack. Mom, get me a snack."
Poonie's fur is getting so matted since he's decided in his old age that he doesn't need to groom himself any longer, going for the "let it be" look as it were. Today I decided that I'd try to brush him. WHAT A JOKE! Thank god no one was filming me--I'm crouched down and scuttling through the house behind the damn cat who refused to let me touch him with the brush and occasionally turns around, hisses, growls and takes a swipe at the brush. I think that's pretty funny since he has no claws, right up until he takes a bite out of my hand. Claws, no. Teeth, ohhhhh yeah.
Well, he's in for it. Next week I'm going to throw a towel over him, grab his dirty hide and throw him in a cat carrier. Then I'm going to dump him off at the vet and let THEM deal with him.
He will undoubtedly be traumatized for the rest of his life. Eh.
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