should’ve named her Bill

Aw, geez, Fufu’s up to her old… probably shouldn’t call them tricks. I really thought we’d somehow broken the everything-happens-to-Fufu curse, but then bug season came, and it looks like we’re going ’round one more time. She kept bringing home ticks, so I bought a flea-and-tick collar (€10! Small town! Only one pet store!). It was awful, this big, clunky white orthopedic-looking thing, the same kind of cruel-for-her-own-good as a back brace on a 12-year-old. Next day she came home with a new tick, and the day after that she came home without the collar. No idea what she did with it. I asked her, and she was all, “Huh? Collar?”

But Tuesday night took the biscuit. She came in with her mouth open and her tongue hanging out, occasionally gagging (oop ack!) and quite hostile to her humans. She couldn’t eat, so I gave her milk to drink and even that just fell out of her mouth. She wouldn’t let me near her, but Ignatz managed to look into her mouth and reported a bump on her tongue. We think she must have eaten a bee. Two days, she walked around like that, and then Friday morning she was back to normal, and acting like nothing had happened.

Cats.

Song du jour of the day: El Cuarto de Tula, by the Buena Vista Social Club.