Max has always been pure evil. She's drawn a lot of my blood over the years. When I had her front claws removed I thought surely I'd send her over the edge and she'd find a way to kill me. Instead, she sweetened up. She became much more playful and started sleeping with me, me, her nemesis, nightly. I had an inkling that she was going about things in a calmer fashion the night I awoke to find sweet Maxy's gigantic Lorax paw fully across my nose and mouth. "So that's how she's playing it, `eh?" I thought to myself. I've kept my eye on her ever since.
But lately, all the umph for evil seems to have gone out of the Fluffernutter. When she started puking on a daily basis I became worried. When she let me load her into the cat carrier for the trip to the vet without once trying to rip out my jugular I nearly cried.
The vet, however, seemed convinced it was nothing too serious. Frontline, it seems, doesn't kill the fleas before they get a chance to bite and Max is allergic to flea bites. They cause these odious scabby things on her skin...despite both pets being treated regularly Max is covered with the creepy scabs. The vet thinks the constant attempt to clean them off is making Max puke. The thought of it nearly made me puke, so I bought it. Now I'm stuck having to attempt to shove half a kitty antacid down her throat on a nightly basis. The score so far is Max 3 humans 0 but I haven't given up.
I've been so busy feeling sorry for the little fur ball that I forgot that she's evil to the core. Until tonight when I sprawled out on my yoga mat for some much-needed stretching and discovered to my not-at-all relaxing dismay that Max had, at some point not recently, peed on the mat. Evil.