Manny officially hates my guts right now. I had the temerity to put more antibiotics in his eye when he was sleeping next to me, all trusting like.
Cue the crazy chase music, because Manny decided to pull a Bad Wolf.
So I had to call THE cat queen of Pigtown, and ask for a
crate favor. So this afternoon looked like:
Tippi, on the other hand, is well pleased.
Flash to four hours later. Manny has howled, batted things, and basically tried to squeeze through bars.
So I’m trying a work release program. If he doesn’t make me work? He’s released (into the wilds of the second bedroom.)
Monday he gets a follow-up. I’m dreading it, because he hates it so. But fingers crossed for healing! Because I can’t put him through much more. And there’s still 8 12-hour treatments to go. Poor binnie.
Off to get him his favorite Thing On A String. I’m a pushover.