The saves are back and I’ve been rescued from the car gulag. There isn’t much to report about my temporary incarceration.
There was nothing really wrong with the cat resort, it was just that it was boring so I slept a lot. Now I’m amusing myself by trying to make it obvious to both the Fusspot and the Chair Stealer/Duvet Denier that they should have arranged my holiday in a rather higher class of establishment.
I’m intrigued by the difference in attitude between my slaves. She is fussing over me, trying to ingratiate herself, hoping that extra little treats will make me forget my recent treatment whereas he couldn’t give a hoot and continues to push me round and call me nasty names. The lout has already forgotten that I slept curled up against the back of his knees and kept him warm at night during the last southerly storm.
There’s no justice in the world. Though if I’m honest when I think about it, I’d probably behave exactly the same way as he does.