Last month I noticed that Zsa Zsa was looking increasingly scruffy; she had tufts of fur sticking out every where and she appeared to have stopped grooming herself. She was also extremely lethargic. "That's it," I thought, "she's REALLY dying now."
But then I had a sudden brainstorm. I took out a comb and started to brush her, and in half an hour I'd removed sixteen inches of loose fur.
It seems that the sudden heat and her new frailty had dealt her a double blow, and whereas in the past she'd been able to remove all that fur, this year she just couldn't. It was like she was wearing a pair of snowpants in the middle of summer. As soon as we finished our hour-long brushing session she went bouncing around the room, suddenly cool and free!
As always, signs of her demise were greatly exaggerated.
Case in point: she caught at least two mice last week, and in keeping with her experimental nature she left them in various states of gruesomeness.
Last Monday I stepped on a mouse tail, which she'd left at the bottom of the stairs. Usually she eats the tails, but maybe this one simply wasn't to her liking.
Wednesday's mouse was the most disgusting yet, because instead of eating it front-to-back or back-to-front, she'd eaten in LATERALLY, from the underbelly up. Three of the feet, most of the viscera, and the lower jaw of the mouse were gone...but the tail, spine, and much of the bleary-eyed head were still intact. It looked like a horror movie prop: a mouse dipped in acid, its ribs gnawed back into little fingers and one little back foot hanging off.
Why does Zsa Zsa do these things? I thought she was a cute little bundle who snores happily on my lap, not a wicked witch-monster who spends the early morning hours eating small creatures alive.
Of course this only makes me love her more.