The Mark Of Zorro

Mr. Ferguson is the mostly gentlemanly, the most debonair, the most delicate and polite of the current cat population. He uses his toes as actual digits — you should see him reach into the bag and pick up a piece of popcorn — and he offers gallantries to his wife on a regular basis, but, well, genteely. He even carries his tail in a dashing curl.

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And then there’s what happens when it’s time for a checkup at the vet.

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That’s my front delt. I didn’t notice until I got back from the gym, owing to the digging of his rear claws into my thigh when we commenced stuffing him into the carrier. It kind of captured my attention.

You’ll be glad to know he checked out A-OK.

 

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8 thoughts on “The Mark Of Zorro

    • And I just saw the human veterinary surgeon about my legs. Basically, for whatever reason, both hips are shot to hell. Like they’re going to be in text books. Bionics go in early February.

      Feh.

  1. When I bring a cat carrier upstairs they scatter and disappear. The chosen one, the one with the vet appointment, transforms into something out of The Exorcist when it’s time to go in the box. At the vet’s it’s a different story. Perfect behaviour. You want me in the box? Sure bro, no probs.

    • Same phenomenon here. Except for Mystery ap Bast, who will get into a carrier set out for any cat. Close it and take it to the car, that’s a different story, in the key of high d sharp.

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