The first doesn't have enough of the second, and the third has a whole lot more of it than expected.
Which is to say that Our little ginger, Opie, has a head cold - the first cat of my acquaintance to be so afflicted.
And afflicted is the word. When we realized late Sunday night that he was miserable, it was rather frightening. A mouth-breathing cat is a confused and unhappy animal, more apt to an unnervingly rapid heartbeat than is pleasant to see.
A cat with a cold is also potentially in a hell of a lot of trouble, so off he went to the vet's this afternoon. He came back, courtesy of BB and FB, with a couple of appetite enhancement pills to be forced down his poor throat, and an intense desire to lay low. We'll coddle him as long as is needful.
As to the rest of the household, we now have a large canister of liquid oxygen standing, frosty and intimidating - no, make that completely horrifying - far too close to the marriage bed.
The LOX is there to fill up BB's brand new travellin' tank. A full six or seven hours of time for independent rambling. And a potential propellant for the inhabitants of CasaKaffyr to better the American moon landing record by one. (I eagerly await those of my friends who will hasten to assure me that LOX doesn't work that way. I know. Now hush; the irrational power of my fearful imagination is of far greater magnitude, and a hell of a lot more twisted fun, than all your fannishly and/or scientifically fueled realities. Heh.)