You could say that handling plants is not my forte. I seem to have a talent for killing them in record time. This doesn’t stop me from buying potted flowers around this time of year and doing my best to keep them alive as long as they accept to live with me. The nice old lady at the market told me these just need about four hours of sun and some watering every day. I think I should be able to manage that. Mimi was quite taken with the new arrival. So much so that I was considering making her responsible for the flowers. That was until she started chewing at the new blooms… Oh well, guess I’ll have to do that all by myself too then.
Right after Mimi had her moment with the flowers, Fritz tried to kill me. I was picking him up at the vet where I’d left him this morning for some tests. Based on the message they left me late in the afternoon, they seemed anxious for me to take him back. He was lying inside the tiny litterbox at the back of the cage, growling and totally freaked out when I got there. The technician seemed afraid to handle him—apparently he’d been “difficult” all day—so I offered to do it myself. Good thing I had the presence of mind to put on protective gloves, because when I reached in, Fritz reacted as if I was his arch-enemy closing in for the kill. As he was fighting off what could have been my bloody stump by then, he managed to poop himself too, poor dear. The technician cleaned him up, seeming grateful that I was dealing with the savage beast. Then we put the cat in the bag and that was that. So now it’s really really really official: that cat is seriously mental. Apparently I shouldn’t blame myself and it’s not my fault. That’s good to know.