A few summers ago a whole bunch of us cats had fleas. My vet said because it was warm and moist outside. My human freaked out.
I learned how to take showers. The only good part was when my human would wrap me up in a towel and rub my fur dry. That was nice.
That summer I took to being thirsty all the time. Just fill up the bathtub, baby, and let me have at it. I coulda licked the thing dry.
My sandbox turned into lake. Sometimes, much to my total horror, I couldn’t hold it any longer. So, it was back to my vet. The vet didn’t like the way my fur looked and made me stay there all afternoon while sticking me with needles and poking me everywhere.
That’s when life changed. They called me diabetic. My vet told my human, “Mouser is a big cat and in his senior years. We find that older spayed male cats can suddenly become diabetic. We don’t know why.”
There were a bunch of trips to the vet where they stuck my paws with something sharp and took blood from my neck. I had to eat special food and get shots two times a day. No more snacks! YIKES! I like snacks!
Meowing of which, I think I’ll see if I can talk my peeps into a tiny tidbit treat. Meow at ya later!
The Muse Pallet 