Luckily, I made some good friends on the Kat Forum.  In the same way I connected with a few people on OS, I’d been able to find a few like-minded souls who “got” me.  After posting my tremendous concern to one particularly dear friend about Boris’ condition, she suggested that I set up a steam bath, something not unlike those treatments used in the early 19^th century for “consumption or the ague.”  “Turn on the taps in the bathroom”, she wrote, “and allow the cleansing mists to drive the phlegm from his lungs.”  I later learned she was half in the bag when she recommended this course of action.   Never drink while replying, a wise man once said, though obviously not in her hearing!  Still, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Now, we don't gamble but one cannot enter such an establishment and not throw some shekels down the Maw of the Beast!   4 minutes later, I had tossed thirty badly needed dollars down the nickel slot’s gullet. Remorse set in immediately!

 I returned home, stomach churning with guilt and alcohol (Port?  What the hell was I thinking?), determined to repent by curing my kat! 

Turning both my shower and sink full blast to hot, hot, hot, I dragged the nasaly-challenged    Boris into my tiny bathroom.  We took our places on the floor, and I stuffed rugs into the inch-wide opening under the door in an effort to keep out the killer draft. 

 We waited.    

After 10 minutes, it became clear that I didn't have enough water pressure to do much besides peel the plaster off the ceiling.   

Sigh.       

In the meantime, Boris was having a ball.  

    While snacking on my very nice satin robe, he got in a bit of a snag.   After several pitiful glances my way, I gave in and set him free.    

Deprived of destructive fun, Boris cried out in supplication.

  

                                                                            

Damn that Natasha!       Ever protective of her little brother,  she would mewl in distress when I gave him his nose drops, and sniff the bottle afterwards to make sure I had not dosed him with some dire poison.   In answer to Boris’ pleas, she began to affect his escape by pushing the rug out of her way.

ENOUGH! I was finally convinced that I wasting my time, energy,  and our world's finite water resources.  And I was the only one doing any sweating!

   I set the damned wee-zing beastie free and he was joyously reunited with his meddlesome sister. 

I was now forced to consider the Cold War Era Sunbeam Ultrasonic Cool Spray Humidifier that has been in my boyfriend's attic since 1953.  I was a little frightened of it.  Even the notoriously cold-blooded Fiends showed some reservations as could be noted by the look on Natasha’s little face.  

It sits on the floor even now.

And so it comes to pass that my beloved Boris, my pet, the creature I have sworn to care for, protect, nurture, feed and provide untold sums of nip mice for, is still not cured.  Cowardice has kept me off the Kat Forum.  Those Laydees have a nose for failure; they can sniff out lackadaisical kat care from mere meters away and they will circle like sharks and nose in for the kill!!!!!  I’m sorry.  It’s just that I’ve participated in such feeding frenzies and I’m steering clear as it is very easy to become a genuinely KrayZee Kat Laydee!  In the meantime, Boris sneezes, I wipe his nose (it's just weird, okay?), he looks at me impatiently, and goes about his business.

 Keeping the World Safe from Feet

  

 

and Cleaning Implements Everywhere.

 

As current lives go, I'll take it.