Friday morning, Schmutzy and I engaged in a fight. It was woman against cat as I tried, unsuccessfully, to put him inside a pet carrier so he could go to the vet.
After 15 minutes of struggling and the use of a towel, I was finally able to get him into the pet carrier. I, however, was not left unscathed. My "new" shirt was torn, and the muscles in my lower back rebelled.
Three days later, my back is still hurting. Schmutzy, on the other hand, is walking around like the victor, tail held high and as mouthy as always. I swear I saw him stick his tongue out at me this morning as I struggled to get out of bed.
That's fine, Schmutz. Just fine. Just remember, I control the chicken breast treats you love so much.
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