It seems I blinked once or twice and a new year crept up like Herself with a tube of vermifuge concealed behind her back. Jack tells me the years have a nasty habit of accelerating until they leave you spent and gasping for breath, wondering what the blur was; it was in fact another twelve months sprinting past.
I am still recovering from the substitution of my old, round, floor model feeder for a new, square, black one that hangs on the stall partition. It was a Christmas gift from the male human. He meant well, I'm sure, but forgot to take into consideration my loathing of any drastic changes within my usual environment. The first evening was the worst and I shook and snorted in the corner for ages. The woman showed me the bribes she had loaded into it but still it filled me with a terrible sense of foreboding. Five days later I am dining from it but keeping my senses on high alert in case it should suddenly, as Doc says. "go todally mental". You just never know.
The woman has grown concerned over Sally's increasing girth and has concocted a fiendish scheme to help her grow fit. Actually, the get- fit scheme arrived in the form of a feline Christmas present. It looks like a small writing instrument but instead of ink, it projects a dot of red light. Sally was initially and understandably shocked at the appearance of this alien beam and said "Pfffffftttt, Rrrrrrrr, Eeeeeeowwww" in her small but firm voice. Then she began to try to capture the intruder and the woman managed to get her up to speed and puffing in a short time. A few days have elapsed and now Sally has become rather blase about the whole thing, indicating that she would rather lie in her cozy igloo and occasionally pat at the dot in a desultory fashion. I'll let you know how it progresses from here - possibly the woman chasing the red dot for Sally's entertainment. And mine, of course.
In the house, the dismantling of the tree and it's accoutrements has taken place and Violet is very forlorn indeed. She rushed downstairs at the first sound of an ornament being plucked from a branch and complained bitterly the whole while. When the tree was finally stripped of it's finery, Violet lay underneath with her arms around the trunk, looking for all the world like a protester making a last stand; to no avail, however, and tonight she has retreated into Penny's dog bed in a blue funk (what's that? oh, yes, Penny was still in it).
Wishing you the best of everything in the coming year - free from vermifuge and needles and full of superior foodstuffs, soft beds and lots of sunshine.