flying through clouds of uncertainty on wings of existential dread
I’ve never been happier than when my vet asked if I wanted the time-release antibiotic shot for Charlie, or the daily medicine that I’d be in charge of giving him. There is only one right answer to that question, and it’s not me trying to stuff antibiotics down his furry throat for two weeks. In fact, this was coming on top of a week + of me trying to get him to lick cat laxative off his paw (for hairballs, not tiny constipation), and I was up for anyone who wasn’t me taking over as the bad guy.
By the way, cat laxative? Not a thing you want to mess up the dosage on. The people who make that stuff need to provide a better measuring system or something, cause I was freaking out every time.
Hope you weren’t eating breakfast, guys.
“I’d rather smother than lick up more ‘malt-flavoured’ Laxatone. This is your fault, woman.”