Tuesday

Brought Mo home from the Clinic yesterday. Maybe he's better, but he looks worse than when I took him in. He has chosen the front bathroom for his domain, and won't leave it. When I carried him upstairs to the living room, he ran and jumped up onto the coffee table and sat staring around as if he didn't believe it. But since then, he hardly moves. But he eats every couple of hours and drinks a lot of water, so maybe he'll recover by and by.

I called Dave to come and clean the carpets and kill what fleas are left. Mo's hidey hole seems to be clear of fleas, maybe because he and the beach towel I had him wrapped in are still [I can't think of the word] soaked with flea repellent. So maybe he'll last until Dave has been here on Friday.

Yesterday I petted the stray white cat, and he bit my hand twice so that I had to disinfect and bandage the puncture wounds. I'm done with pets. Finished. I don't ask them to say "thank you" for the food and water and the porch to lie on or under. Just don't injure me, that's all.