High Maintenance & Proud of It

I'm recuperating from my hospital visit. Okay, it's not like a human hospital, but it's called the Babylon Animal Hospital, so my condition deserves sympathy. My diagnoses: sensitive skin, sensitive ears, sensitive gums, lovely disposition. (The vet really liked me, and she even cut my nails, because I cry when Joan does it.)

Shane stayed home, because it was too cold for him to stay in the car and he's too nervous to be allowed in the hospital unless he's getting a checkup.

Anyway, I haven't been feeling too well and I have a terrible "hot spot," so Joan took me to the hospital this evening. She called me "high maintenance"; but everyone at the office—even two people who had cats—said I was really pretty.

Oh, and guess what? I don't weigh 130 pounds anymore. I only weigh 120 pounds. How's that for progress? And it's all because Joan started copying Cesar Millan and making me go on walks. Yeah, I eat what I want, but the walks really work. Just email me if you need any diet tips.

Joan also pulled a Cesar in the vet's office. When I wouldn't get on the elevator table, the vet was about to go get help to lift me on it. Joan said, "Wait, I'm going to pull a Cesar." And she took me by the leash, made that Cesar "tsshhhhhhhh" sound, and said, "I'm the leader of the pack." It was like a spell came over me. Entranced and obedient, I got on the table. The checkup wasn't a thrill, but I got through it.

Now, I've got to go sleep off my adventure. Whew.

Best wishes, Juno