When I arrived home last night, Tabitha's left eye had gummed shut with discharge. The guilt factor shot through the roof; unsticking her eyelid with a little water and a soft cloth all the while apologising to MAH PRESHUS BAYBEE left me stricken. I booked a vet appointment for this morning and it transpires my poor wee Tib has the cat flu. She's in the early stages - conjunctivitis and the first sneezes this morning. I suspect that Timothy will have also been infected by now so I envisage a similar visit for Timothy Terror Cat sometime soon. In the interim, Tabby needs eye cream and antibiotics administered on the regular. Woe, leaving her today was twice as hard.
While she was clearly unwell, she wasn't so sick that a three hour rumble with her brother wasn't on the cards last night. In the interests of fairly blogging the minutiae of my kitties' lives and personalities (I am a good Mummy Blogger), Tabby interrupted the fight only to get nosy when we were in the kitchen or dining room doing something with human food. She hasn't yet managed to score a taste of this good smelling stuff (steak last night) but she clearly has a feeling that she's into whatever we're eating. Whereas Tim could care less; he's into whatever electronics we're using. He's already effectively applied a paw to move the screen on an iphone, discovered the CD eject button on the laptop and the on button for the playstation. All by accident, of course; I'm not claiming Tim is some kind of genius cat (I mean, he licks his own bum for fun), but he displays an interest in chewing cords that is well beyond his age, I think.
I really did not predict the depth of my reaction to these two wee kittens. I am obsessed. I have conversations PLURAL about the contents of the litter tray, for fuck's sake. Are my hormones doing a number on me or am I a saddo cat lady with no other conversation? A little of Column A, a little of Column B perhaps?