Today was the dreaded monthly heartworm/flea/whatever parasite treatment day.

Bob alone is not a problem. He trusts me not to hurt him when I hold him down to squirt the flea kerosene between his shoulders. I reckon that's the recommended spot because he can't lick it off. Which suggests it would not be such a good idea if he did lick it off. Which makes me wash my hands really well before I give him the yummy heartworm pill as a "reward."

With Penny, though...She's a sweetheart who wants my attention and cheek/neck skritchy skratches all the time but, well, she's a cat. So it has to be on her terms. One of which is that she always has an escape route. I'm happy to give her that, except when I have to part her between-the-shoulder-blades-fur once a month to administer that which a responsible cat owner must administer. Escape route closed until medical procedure done. Not to mention that said medical procedure requires access to less preferred part of her body. Needless to say, she emits pitiable cries worthy of Opera Delaware during the procedure. On release, she high tails it to her retreat. Where her box is. And throws a freakin rock&roll diva temper tantrum of litter ("It was drugs, what can I say"). 15 minutes later, she's back out for skritchy skratches.

Together, though, Bob is SUCH a good kid, and Penny so suspicious. Hmm. There's a lesson in here so, thanks Bob and Penny!