Summer

The house is hot, too hot. At night MB shuts me up with her and the birds in a tiny (too tiny) room and runs the air-conditioning unit in the window. Isaac, the conure, gets antsy in the cool air and shreds cardboard at the bottom of his cage. As long as he's restless the rest of us have to listen to his "rip rip rip" noise, which is occasionally relieved by scratching sounds as he shifts to another part of the cage for a new shredding site. Pigeon, the cockatiel, doesn't seem to get restless, but she'll utter a squeak and every now and then make a plop of bird splat. MB tosses and turns and then turns on her light to read. I lie there flat on my tummy with my legs spread out and sigh. This is summer-time. The fleas are biting and the grass is high.

MB took me to the vet this morning so they could admire and molest me. I don't know why she writes them a check. Since they're getting to put their hands all over me, stroke me and violate me, seems like they ought to be writing her a check. Anyway, they started vacuuming the examining room before we'd left the building, which is another thing. They get to keep the dog hair I leave behind. Again, why isn't MB charging them?