It's a hard life, the life of Bentley. First you are feeling kind of punky and the next thing you know you wake up in a strange place with a foot-long zipper of staples in your belly. You've now traded feeling punky for being sore and tired. Your Mum makes you stay off the furniture. She says it's for your own good, so you won't hurt your incision, but you know it's all a plot to finally convince you to stay off the sofa that she's been battling with you about for years. And the piece de resistance is 'the cone of shame'. Your belly is shaved. Your front paws each have a shaved bracelet around them. You look like an idiot and then she goes and winds a plastic satellite dish around your neck every time you are out of her sight. What gives???
The worst part of the cone of shame isn't the fact that you can't gnaw on your toys or get a drink of water with it on. It's not even the fact that it's clear plastic so you can't see it and keep bumping in to things you just know you used to be able to get much closer to...No, the worst part is the tiny offerings. Every time you wake up the cone is full of cat toys. At least you think it's tiny get-well offerings, but it could just as well be the result of him practicing his 3-point shots in the middle of the night. That darn Cooper!
Oh he's been the very picture of the caring baby brother since you came home from the hospital. He has investigated your wound thoroughly but hasn't licked it with that sandpaper tongue of his; this fact alone you are eternally grateful for. He stops whatever he's doing every 10-15 minutes; be it taking a nap, eating or playing, to check on you, sniffing your nose and giving you a kiss before going back to whatever trouble he was getting into. Sometimes, if he's not really busy, he'll swish out your ears which feels good...But you sure wish he would stop filling your damn cone with catnip mice, feathers and sparkly pompoms!
The fact that he waits until you're sleeping ticks you off. It's like he knows that if you're awake he wouldn't get away with that foolishness. He couldn't reach into the cone and even if he could the toys would fall out. No, he waits until you're conked out from that 'special ham treat' Mum keeps giving you. It's got funny medicine-y smelling, little, round, white things in it but, Dog help me, ham tastes so GOOD. He waits 'til you're lying on your side, head on the floor, out like a light, and then he starts in lugging toys to put in the cone! The cone is an accessory all on it's own, Cooper and I ROCK it!!! It doesn't need to be gussied up with feline gewgaws! WTH!!!!
Yep, it hasn't been a good week, but things are starting to get better every day. Won't be long before the stitches are out, the cone is off and I can start plotting my revenge. Pay back is a female of my species! We'll see how he likes a dog bone on his fuzzy blankey! Look for an entry entitled "Big Sloppy, Slobbery Offerings: The Life of Cooper" soon!