I had so many productive plans for today: clean the house, do laundry, get some writing done, cure cancer and oversee world peace. Spouse Thingy is working, there’s nothing worthwhile on TV to distract me—a perfect day for Getting Things Done.

At 2:20 a.m. I heard whining coming from downstairs; I went to check on Hank, who was in the hallway near the bottom of the stairs, looking a little confused and/or lonely. So I scratched his head, tried to put him outside in case he needed to pee—he refused to move—offered him water (which he refused), so I went back upstairs.

Forty five minutes later the whining started again, a little louder. So I went downstairs, turned on the TV, called him into the living room—for this he got up—and stayed there until Spouse Thingy got up a little after 6 this morning. That’s all Hank wanted, I guess. Someone to be down there with him. He snoozed, I tried to sleep in the chair, not with much success. When Spouse Thingy got up I went to bed until 9 a.m., when I had to get up to give Hank his meds.

I am Sofa King tired now.
I wonder why.

I am getting more worried about him; now he won’t even eat the Usually Forbidden Moist & Meaty. He’ll eat Alpo chunks off the end of a fork, but if we give him exclusively wet food he’ll get the runs. He has no zip. Doesn’t want to move unless he has to. We took him off the new pain med, thinking that might be upsetting his stomach, but if he’s not perked up by Monday we’ll have to take him back to the vet.

I have a bad feeling…

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