Chicken’s Corner: Home from the Vet

Chicken made it out of the emergency vet, thank goodness, and several thousands of dollars and several small vials of Jon’s tears later. I have visions of Jon harvesting his tears and applying them onto Chicken’s furry parts while whispering angry spells of healing. “But you’re a MUGGLE!” Caleb shouts gleefully, waving a chopstick in the air as he leaps off the back of the couch.

Our crusty prodigal son returned home to his family who loves him, shaved in various places, smelling of various terrible smells, handfuls of pills and little syringes of not ink but of equally suspicious and oily substances. Unlike Tuna, Chicken is a two-person pill-taker, and there’s nothing as uniting in a marriage as attempting to force multiple pills down an angry cat’s throat.

There was a phase immediately after Chicken came home where Tuna was growling (!) and hissing (!) and all backed up (!) at Chicken. No cone, but I think the cone was preferable for Tuna, if not for Chicken. It was the first time I’ve ever heard Tuna have any hostilities at all, toward any creature and for a brief spell I was worried their love story was over.

But love conquers all, along with an airing. Tuna could not resist Chicken’s charm, or, I suppose, Chicken could no longer resist Tuna’s charm. Which is to say one tail always trying to get in a bit closer, as all should be in our little stationery enclave.

Interesting to note: Junia, who is slogging away at re-entry into preschool, has also been coming home with weird smells—is that the hot lunch they serve? Some new diaper cream? These smells have been unappealing to me, and I’ve been trying to talk about it with the other members of this family, all who seem to either not notice or not care, and so I’ve been trying to hold it in for fear of comparing myself to a homeless cat.