Like Scheherazade, Oliver must tell us a tale each night so that he be allowed to live another day. His tales are a bit of a dumb show, of course, for a meow can be many things but never an argument.
Tonight he dragged himself into his litter box and urinated and then -- to the wonder of all -- bumped his way up the stairs.
And then he lay down. He had done enough. For today.
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1 comment:
wow, up stairs. he's a trooper.
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