Cats are ridiculous. They are supposed to be easy to care for, until they are impossible. You put water down, and food, and do your thing, and the cat does his thing, and that's that. And then something goes wrong and nothing you do is right. You want me in a cat carrier? Yeah right. Here, let me yawl at you in a pitiful manner so you don't know if I'm dying or if I'm pissed.
Long story short, Rufus and I had an interesting evening tonight. I had to pop and allergy pill down his throat, which meant I had to sneak up to him, brace him between my legs, stick the pill in his mouth, and wait for him to swallow. He was not happy. He expressed his displeasure by barfing on the carpet multiple times, refusing to move unless prodded and then crawling a few inches forward to lie down again, and looking sick in general.
He has no idea how close he was to getting shoved into a cat carrier and driven through the freezing night to some animal hospital. After about half an hour he started walking around again, and now he's filling his belly with cat food, likely so he can puke it at me later.
He also yowls at me every five minutes or so. So, I get up and make sure nothing is wrong and he's sitting with his cat toy, looking up at me expectantly. I think he knows I feel guilty for shoving the pill down his throat and is milking it. My guess is that he was used to me being the pushover, and so my manhandling him for the first time ever was so offensive he had himself a little fit.
He's back to normal now, but I'm going to be jumping at every little thing for him for the rest of the weekend. Here's hoping he doesn't take too much advantage of that.
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