Stop fussing, mother!

Well, apart from a large shaved patch (grey stripy skin!) and a tiny incision, you wouldn't know that Millie had been in surgery. Up early yesterday, and very puzzled by the lack of breakfast, she was utterly silent on the way to the vet, where I abandoned her and crept away feeling like a - well, a heartless cat-abandoner. Home later that day, she shot out of the cat carrier at the speed of light, and threw herself into her litterbox - obviously one of those over-genteel young ladies who couldn't possibly use any old loo - then onto her dinner. And she's been full of beans since. "Keep her in for 10 days" said the nurse. Ha! Fat chance. She's out in the back yard now, chasing flies.

Interestingly, Lottie had a lovely day without her, and scampered, played, trilled and flirted; when Millie arrived home, Lottie ignored her completely. Hmmm, maybe the mutual devotion isn't so mutual any more....

Today was Lottie's turn: she went in the car like the perfect passenger, through slow heavy traffic, to the vet, where she was microchipped with the hugest needle ever, without flinching. Either I had prepared her well, or had wasted a lot of time and energy worrying neurotically about how traumatised she would be - you'd think I was a novice cat owner. She's not as fragile as she looks, evidently.