So Elvis the Cat is limping around, putting on his best Forlorn Eyes in an effort to get more food out of Annette and I.
Only my cat could strain a muscle “perhaps falling off something” (the vets words, not mine).
Whoever coined the phrase “Catlike Grace” did not own Elvis, that’s for sure.
I won’t even describe the time he got a cardboard ice-cream tub stuck on his head while trying to lick out the remnants, then (with tub still attached) fell backwards off the coffee table.
I love him so.