Granted, I'm still waiting to hear on some blood tests, and a radiologist is going to inspect his x-rays (fancy), but the vet didn't find anything suspicious, and I'm going to choose to believe that means Bentley is healthy as a horse. Or a kitten. Yes. He's just a baby.
He was very tired last night after his trying day at the doctor, and those cruel bastards shaved his tumtum for an abdominal ultrasound. He is shamed.
I had planned to have the Married Couple over for dinner and didn't think "sick cat" was a reasonable excuse for cancelling, and I didn't really want to anyway! We had a nice meal (same dinner I made for my parents' anniversary, and it was again a hit) and chatted and lounged. Tree claimed a spot on the couch right between the two of them so he could get maximum pets. Such a whore.
I cleaned the shit out of my apartment on Monday to get ready for my guests, and I'm really going to try to keep it this way. Yes I am. YesIamIamIam. I say it every damn time and somehow Hurricane Taylor erupts and spews mess all over the fucking place, but not this time.
They stayed a few hours, then Bentley and I watched last week's episode of "Hart of Dixie" (his favorite 'cause of all the cute boys), and observed an early bedtime. We fell asleep spooning, his head resting on my arm and his little purrs creating a soothing soundtrack.
Healthy as a kitten.
Who still needs fluids and pills.
But still.
Healthy.
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