Pampering the conehead

Being spayed was nothing compared to the agony of recovery! Ten days with a cone on the head? No scratching the ears, no licking the paws, no chew toys cuz they just slide out of the cone, no running, no jumping... what's a bitch to do?

I feel so sorry for her. I invite her for long snuggles beside me on the sofa. (She tries climbing into my lap, but those days are gone.) I was nibbling on some garlic naan & shared it with her. Bad choice. Later, when I was eating a miniature marionberry pie from Mehri's Cafe, she threw a whining fit to share that also (no way!), destroying my concentration on the frenetic ending of a Swedish murder/detective novel (The Cruel Stars of the Night by Kjell Eriksson), female cop trapped in the basement of a burning house by the grown-up insane patricidal daughter of a pedantic asshole associate professor Petrarch expert. I didn't give in. Nor did I lose my temper. But I did scold, pinch her neck skin, and then ignore her.

 Lethargic days, giving in to muddy kitchen floor, giving up vacuuming, slow to do laundry until no more underpants, hardly any food in the house. Hard to even whistle as much as I need to until I get my new and better instrument, but I manage to get to yoga classes. I'm basically lazy & pleased to live alone & at my own pace. Rainy days are upon us. Upside is, I love my warm long-sleeved cotton t-shirts and the floor length sleeping t-shirt I just got from Deva and my down comforter. Sleepy bear.