Oliver has a giant half swollen face. He’s like the cat version of Sloth from the Goonies. He just lays there and stares at me as if to say, ‘Why have you let such a tragedy happen to me?’
Except I don’t force him to brawl with all the neighbourhood cats (except Ivan of course) and I don’t force him act like such a hoodlum. No, sir, I don’t. I do however have to take him to the vet this afternoon which is always an adventure of the unpleasant variety, especially since we will be taking the bus. I rarely wish I had a car and a valid UK driving license, but on days when I have to take a grumpy cat on two buses to get to the vet where his grumpiness will only increase before taking two buses with grumpiest cat ever home, well, on those days, I do wish I had a car and a license. But I don’t and I won’t so this afternoon Oliver and I will have an adventure through SE15 and SE22 as we go to get his poor head sorted out.
Please light candles, say a prayer, do a chant of any sort so that I don’t have to give the little fink pills. It’s bad enough having to do this when he hasn’t been wounded in the face but I don’t know if I can stomach prying his mouth open when he’s already all misshapen and cranky.
Editing to Add: The internet is magic! My lovely friend Kirsty read this post and has offered me a ride to the Vet! Kirsty is super awesome. True fact.