El Tigre Es Muy Macho.

Last Fall, we got an exciting "birth" announcement: Greg and Nadine sent us a picture of their new kitty, Ruby Soho. ("Oh, cute! Trent, let's get a new kitten, too!" "No.") So we picked out a fuzzy little catnip toy for Ruby Soho (and one for James Brown, too-can't leave the older sibling out). Only, before I had a chance to wrap and send it, Ozzy found it and tried to make off with it. Unfortunately, there's not a lot of point in giving Ozzy cat toys, because Marlowe usually just gets them and eats them. Plus, this was Ruby Soho's toy. Sorry Ozzy.

Now, since Marlowe hurt her back, she's been too sore and weak to play much. And, while I was grocery shopping last week, I found some other cute, little catnip toys. I had trouble choosing between the yellow tiger and the brown monkey, but I eventually settled on El Tigre. I brought it home, took it out of the package, and gave it to Ozzy, who sniffed at it in his usual, cautious way. ("Mom wants me to have this. Is it safe? Can I betray my enthusiasm and bite it like I really want to, or do I have to maintain my dignity for another minute here?") So I start putting away groceries, and I hear Marlowe getting out of bed. (Since she can hardly move her hind legs, "getting out of bed" is actually a euphemism. She kind of drags her bed behind her until her hinquarters finally slide free.) A moment later, I hear her little nails clicking on the tiles much more quickly than they have been lately, and her collar jingle as she shakes herself. I look over, and Marlowe is looking much happier than she has since her trip to the Emergency Vet clinic: her tail is wagging, she's standing, not falling over, and her ears are perked up. Oh, and she's got El Tigre in her mouth. Ozzy looks from Marlowe to me as if to say, "What just happened here?"

You know what? I've just decided to serialize this post, a-la-Victorian-novel. Stay tuned for the continuation.