We took Brandy for a checkup and booster shot today. She's in fine
health, has put on a bit more weight and was nice and feisty for the
poor tech, who had to call in reinforcements to hold her down while
getting her feleuk shot.

We went to pay the bill, and what happens? Brandy made a
silent-but-deadly social statement right there in the waiting room.
OMIGAWD!!!!! The senior doctor was out there for a different patient,
and I saw the first ribbons of green crawl across the surface of his
skin. Who knew that an 8 pound kitten could have such lethal gas? The
poor woman at the counter made some lame excuse about it being so warm
for mid-October (yeah, a real balmy 45 degrees) and started fanning
herself, which of course blew IT right into the vet's face. If you come
to Buffalo and see a fellow with curled eyebrows, that's the doctor.
I'll tell you, I've heard of the morning after beer-and-Mexican-food
binges being less obnoxious than Brandy's little emission control
problem. What a little gasbag! Just like Mama after chili night at Tim
Horton's.

We ran into Marilyn, her former foster-mama, shrtly thereafter, and told
her the story. Poor Marilyn. She works in Better Handbags at one of our
fancier department stores, and had a hard time keeping control when we
told her.

Blessed be,
Baha