Sour Times

The full horror of what's going on has finally been explained to me--and I don't like it one little bit.

It seems that my Danish Nan, who is the British One's Mum, has passed over the rainbow into the Summerland. My humans have to travel far away to be with family, or so it has been explained.

As if my anxiety levels were not high enough yesterday, with thoughts of how I was going to manage on my own, I now know what the humans have in store for me.

It is not good, let me tell you.

Because I have medical problems and because they will be gone for a long time (they say only two weeks, but that's FOREVER to a kitty, isn't it?), my humans are going to take me to board at the not-quite-evil hippie vet's office.

Not good, not good, not good. I'm not going to like this, I just know it. I won't have my computer, for a start.

I won't have my comfy Poang chair to nap on, nor the big window to watch the world go by. I won't have my familiar litterboxes, and I won't have a soft duvet to doze on.

My humans say it is for the best, because they cannot expect their friends to come over thrice daily to feed me and give me eyedrops. And they have pointed out the issue that I sometimes don't make it to my box in time, and they don't want their friends to have to clean it up. They tell me I will still have my blankie and jars of baby food. Do they really think that a few jars of baby food will "make up" for this injustice?

How could they think this is in my best interest?! How do they know what my best interest is?

I am so upset by this turn of events that I didn't even sleep with them last night.