alfreda89: 3 foot concrete Medieval style gargoyle with author's hand resting on its head. (Burmese Basket)
Merlyn was very ill earlier this year. He masquerades as a ten year old font of catly wisdom and sneaky energy, but he is nineteen, so ill is cause for concern. During this event, we figured out he had a sinus infection, and since he could not smell anything, he would not eat. I had to get him breathing through his nose. So I stuffed him in a carrier, stuck it next to a sink, draped a towel over carrier and sink, and filled the sink with boiling water.

It took him two tries to figure out that it helped. Then he loved it. Then it helped with allergies. Now, months later, he is chowing down on K/D kibble at night and chicken & gravy baby food during the day, is solid muscle again--and wants to be steamed several times a day. Which is, I must admit, an undertaking.

When he started playing the "I want to be steamed two minutes and get out" game, we had a problem. A friend's cat sent him a vaporizer.

He is DEEPLY suspicious of the vaporizer, plus it doesn't put out steam fast enough for him. How can he cosplay being a jaguar laying in wait by a mythical boiling Amazon, if the steam doesn't show up in a billow?

Merlyn, eying vaporizer: It is growing a tentacle.
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Edamame Cat=1, PM=0
alfreda89: 3 foot concrete Medieval style gargoyle with author's hand resting on its head. (Burmese Basket)
Suddenly, there is silence. The Mutter-Mutter-Mutter of cat monologue has abruptly ended.

You're busy, so you don't really notice that the cat muttering has ceased. After all, he does occasionally take naps. Then you hear a bit of rustling, like crumbled paper shoved across carpet. A thud follows, the sound of a dense Burmese hitting the top of the staircase railing.

He's a little hyperthyroid, so you glance over and then ignore him.

Which is just what he wants. So you don't look up at the soft rustling and thuds that follow, figuring he's still chasing that wad of tin foil you made for him. But the tin foil fell long ago, and the King of the jungle is about to let loose with his hunting cry.

AAAARRRRGGGHGHGH! The shriek of triumph!

Crash! TING! The bright sound of molded aluminum hitting the massage table leg, as the crochet hook goes flying! Does he want the crocheted piece you carelessly set down for a moment and did not return to last night? No! He's a cat!

HE WANTS YOUR STRING.

Yarn! Four skeins of yarn! And it's his, all his!

Actually, no, Merlyn, it's not yours, it's mine. (Remove yarn, hook and box from cat paws.)

Mutter-Mutter-Mutter....

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