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Cadw'r Ddysgl yn Wastad
Thursday, December 29, 2005
My old cat is on its last leg (or legs, if you count all of them). Chelsea, my daughter brought him home 13 years ago, a tiny, flea covered, dying kitten and he remained with us. He is as jumpy and terrified as a Scaredy Cat, is unsociable and finicky and just plain ornary. I love him anyway. He has never caught a bird or a mouse, vomits only on carpet and loses great big clumps of fur all over the house. The odd time , when he feels playful, he will attack my leg and bite me and he always drinks out of my bath. Poor Sidney (we named him after Sid Vicious).
I wish he didn't have to feel so bad, cuz its making me feel really really bad too.