He's A Fighter

     Huck the cat went to the dentist -- well, to the vet, for a dental procedure -- this morning. 

     He's back home now, with clean teeth and a clean bill of health (mostly -- he's missing three tiny incisors, possibly as a result of his habit of chewing on things.  This is not a big problem for a housecat, since they don't use those teeth to chew their food).  But he's, well, stoned.

     He's still wobbly from the anesthetic but he will not lay down and sleep it off.  He's pacing through the house, smoothing on everything he can reach and looking for something, anything, to eat.  His back end is not quite keeping up with his front, but you see, Huck didn't have any breakfast this morning, and in Huck's world, that is an emergency that trumps everything else, even recovery from general anesthesia.

     Holden is trailing after him, murmuring comforting or worried-sounding purrpps and blerts, which Huck ignores.

     I've shut myself in the back of the house with a small snack, in the hopes that he'll find a quiet corner to relax in.  Speaking as someone who has come out from anesthesia struggling to get off the gurney and away from the nurses on multiple occasions, I think I know how he feels.