Last week, Topaz seemed to be running a fever, so we trundled off to the vet’s office, where the vet was very patient with 6.5 pounds of seething, hissing and shivering pussycat. I don’t want to get into humiliating specifics, but let’s just say that if the six and a half foot vet is intent on taking the temperature of the tiny angry kitty, LET THEM FIGHT IT OUT. Got that mental picture? Got it? Awesome.
In the evenings now, Topaz has taken to curling up on a velveteen pillow while I type a stirring missive or work on the family store’s website. Sometimes she stands on the keyboard and insists I admire her beauty, and how could I not? Though she will on occasion go so far as to nod off on my lap, Topaz is no lap cat. She is in her heart a panther, lounging in a tree, watching, always watching.