Shots! Shots! Shots shots shots shots!
No, not those kinds of shots. Vaccinations. Every year for my cat's birthday, she gets to go the vet and get her birthday shots. She acts so tough until she has to go to the vet. When we take her out of her carrier and place her onto the examination table, she becomes a ball and smushes her face into my body. It gives me so much satisfaction to know that she needs me for comfort. Usually, she's just like, "Yea, whatever, momi. Why don't you go f yourself." But not at the vet. There I am her rock. Her foundation. Her familiar human.
So she got updated on all of her shots. The vet technician said that kitty might be sleepy or lethargic when we get home. She might be a little sore on both hips, that's where she got her shots. Don't be alarmed if she wants to nap the rest of the day. She'll be lethargic, no worries.
If you call zooming from room to room and crashing face-first into the vertical blinds and bumping her head on the glass window "lethargic," then yea, I'd say she was super lethargic. So that's cool. She's always pretty "lethargic" at 1 in the morning.
Along with the birthday shots, my cat also got a few new toys. None of which were interesting to her. Only the Target plastic bag in which they came caught her eye. Literally, our cabinet is overflowing with Target plastic bags. Our cabinet doth runneth over with Target plastic bags, and that's what she chooses for her sixth birthday special present. CATS-- amirite?
Happy birthday, Chloe. Or as she likes to think of it: Happy day where I get poked by needles, and get a bunch of plastic bags, and get gravy for dinner! (Can I get gravy more than once a year? Sheezus, what's a cat got to do to get some gravy around here?)
We'll close with a special message from the girl of the hour, Chloe herself--
df8m \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\[;';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';';'
-j
