Poor little puddin' pie

I'm worried and outraged to report that young Simon has a virus.

Concerned by the slight discharge coming from his eyes -- for he's never had goopy eyes in his life -- I made an appointment to see the vet today. Those of you who've been around Simon when he's forced into his pet taxi know what an ordeal that is, and you also are no doubt still haunted by the doleful cries he issues from said pet taxi. It's enough to break even a sociopath's heart. Today was no different, and I felt like the worst cat mommy in the world as I walked down 83rd Street, Simon crying all the way.

Anyway, first they weighed him, and it turns out the little dude has only gained .40 pounds since January, even though he's getting considerably less exercise. I guess he's just naturally svelte! Then the vet took his temperature -- which he just loved, let me tell you -- and it was elevated, as it always is when he's at the vet, bless his little heart. She thinks he has a virus and favors a measured approach that I appreciate quite a bit: I'm to mix a little antiviral medication into his food, and if his eyes don't start to clear up in a few days, he'll need blood work. BUT HE WON'T NEED BLOOD WORK. Not my handsome lad. No sir!

This situation pisses me off. Simon hasn't been sick a day in his life until now. He's been the very picture of good health. And of course I never let him out of the apartment, because that would be irresponsible parenting. So, I'm afraid I have choice but to blame his illness on my neighbors, who in addition to being noisy and forever washing dishes, must also be disease-ridden. Fie on you, neighbors! Fie!