Ike

I'm sitting up way too late by myself, in the gameroom, writing this. The door to this room is shut, but that only slightly muffles the caterwauling of Ike, thirteen pounds of orange male tabby, who is pacing back and forth outside the door, exhibiting his own, feline version of sundowner's syndrome. Ike is named for the hurricane that was making land the first week in September 2008, when, at a little after 1:00 AM, he coincidentally wandered out of a ratty boxwood hedge that bordered a grocery store parking lot and in which he'd apparently been seeking shelter from the rain: friendly, curious, and, of course, hungry. Chris took him home, but somehow I ended up with him. I have no idea how old Ike is, but I'd guess he's a year or two, and prior to my taking him for his first set of shots a couple of weeks ago, I'd bet that he's never seen a vet because he's still, uh...intact.

This did not go unnoticed by 6-year-old Xander, who said, after watching Ike walk through my kitchen a couple of weeks ago: "Judi, I think there might be something wrong with Ike, because, have you noticed? He's a little, uh, swollen in the back."

Swollen indeed, a fact that is scheduled to be remedied bright and early tomorrow morning...and insofar as I'm concerned, not a moment too soon.