I was a bad political activist.
I was more concerned yesterday with my and my kittens’ personal health than exercising my free speech rights in protesting the current presidential administrations’ lack of ethics and accountability.
The good news is that I’m in pretty good health. Smacky, however, has been scratching himself horribly and has scabs on both of his shoulders. Apparently the fleas haven’t been quite as under control as I thought. Poor thing. I guess the one application of the flea stuff wasn’t enough. Or (this is my worry) he’s having some kind of reaction to the flea stuff… or he’s got some horrible cancer and is dying. Yeah, I’m worried and probably over-worrying. Remember, people, thinking too much is a bad thing. So I’m taking Smacky in on Monday (the earliest appointment I could get) to have him checked out.
I’ve felt so guilty that I’ve been letting him sleep in my bed again. At least until he starts attacking my toes at 1:27 AM and waking me up, and pissing me off, at which point the guilt turns into sleepy anger and I kick him out of the bedroorm.
Of course, the guilt returns when I wake up and open the door to find he has been sleeping against my door, and looks up at me and scratches himself and makes these piteous cries.
Is this what being a parent is like? Lurching from impatience and anger… to fear and guilt? Not sure I like it… But I will do whatever I can to make sure Smacky is OK.