Stuck at home today, waiting on car repairs, I had the time to spend with the house full of cats, which they all (well, four out of five, anyway; Spodgumine the curmudgeon slunk into the basement shortly after breakfast) seemed to enjoy. It also gave the monster babies a chance to refine their game.
Earlier this morning, I stumbled across Rufus being impressively sick, in such a way as to suggest that the topologies of kitten stomachs do not play by the standard rules of physics. This made me worry, and so I watched him more closely, and noted that he seemed sleepier than the other two. Naturally, I became convinced he was sick, and took to checking up on him, petting him, and even carrying him with me from room to room, "just in case". He purred sleepily through it all, and squeeked for more attention when I stopped.
I gave them all some food when I'd gotten back, as a test to see how Rufus performed. Unsurprisingly, he was the first at the dish, and the first to look around and see if there was more once it was gone. If he was sick, it was very short term.
But then, I worried that I'd been unfair to Petrov, who's healthy, exuberant, and the most intrepid of the three; I worried early that Lily was sick, and treated her much like I treated Rufus today. So, now the crazy guilt has me wanting to accede to his every whim, at least until things "balance out". Thankfully,
fairyhead comes home tonight, and she makes an excellent handbrake on the runaway car of my insanity.
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