I woke up this morning to Phlyd staring expectantly at me. I got up and walked to the kitchen, with him close behind. I scooped out the food for Tbone and Newman, then put a small amount on Phlyd's plate.
And he dug right in. Having finished that bit in under 10 seconds, he looked up at me expectantly, then back down at the dish, then back up to me, even more expectantly.
I'm not sure how much more I can take of this. Lst night was the fourth time I've been certain I'd need to put him down, only to have him bounce back from the brink of death.
Don't get me wrong-- I'm ecstatic that he is doing better than last night. But I'm beginning to think he's toying with me just to get the cheap white-trashy cat food that he loves, apparently.
So, here we are:
Phlyd - eating and sleeping and being much more Phlyd than usual.
Me - a fucking basket case.
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