My lovely Robert Harvest Smith got attacked by another cat or possibly a wolf or fuck knows what. Two abscesses. Stitches. Antibiotics. 475 francs (445 pounds) for the vet. Yeppa.
He’s alright now. Has to stay indoors for about ten days which is driving him nuts. C’est la vie.
Ouch. That’s looks sore. Rest up RHS.
He’s the sweetest cat, would never start a fight. This was way too gnarly.
He’s home and he’s going to be okay though, that’s the main thing. I love them to bits but cats stress me the fuck out sometimes, like when they decide to not show up for half a day.
Did you go for the whips or Desperate Dan?
I got inspired and bought some nails.
“Never gonna use them.”
Oof. Get well soon fella.
That’s one reason I don’t have pets. I’d be like… £450? What’s the other option again?
Nah I wouldn’t but that’s rough. Sue the fox.
The combination of perviness and english tweeness is a powerful one
450 for my car would piss me off but when it comes to my pets I don’t even care. They mean the world to me.
Went to the skatepark for the first time in ages. Some scooter kid kept chatting to me then his dad got on a longboard and rode off pulled by four fucking huge dogs.
I’ve got my therapy down to once a month, as long as I supplement it every day by wafting about in the S Class with windows up and tapes on unfeasibly loud. It’s a good system
Looking healthier. Give him a cuddle from me please x
Enough with the Backrooms hype already
