We saved Gwen from the SPCA about a week ago. She's really fat, and loves to piss and crap on my bed, but those two colored eyes of hers make it easy to forgive. I hate being such a pussy.
Skittles (I wanted to name her Rabies, but I lost that fight) is in heat, isn't she adorable? Her favorite games are Bite, Scratch and Chasing Your Legs Up The Stairs So You Nearly Trip.
Currently these two hate each other, all I hear is thud, hiss pitterpatterpitterpatter HISS, all night long. It's wonderfully loud and disruptive. I also get bitten and scratched a lot when I pick one up and walk past the other. My wrists look like those of some attention desperate high school girl. Cats are great.
Whoops, over in the Cute thread I had Pi dated as 5, not 15. Dates edited.
I had his medicine thrown away almost instantly, but taking his body to the vet was brutal. "Do you want to keep the ashes?" God, no! "Do you need the receipt?" No, thanks. They're very nice people, and were nothing but helpful from the day his kidneys went all the way through, but at that point all I wanted was out while I still had some semblance of having my shit together.
I just caught myself moving towards his corner of the house to check on him. Stupid reflexes.
I can't even imagine having a pet die on me, I routinely give them away long before that happens, usually because I always get the neurotic pet and just can't take it anymore. You have my condolences, but at least now you can go to the SPCA and save a new friend.
