Stick around for the Mojo

Well, we signed our lease Friday. A nice little two-story house here in town. Street seems quiet, we’re near a park, and there’s a bit of a yard for the puppy. Inside, stairs for the cats to race up and down on, nooks to hide in, and a pantry in the kitchen for Baby Cat to perch upon. I think we’ll be happy, even though there’s only one bathroom.

Not much else going on. I’m distraught over the end of “Friends,” so we went and bought season 1 on DVD. Oh man, did I ever laugh my ass off Saturday night. Actually, the reason I wanted to get it is because Dave’s grandma is very sick, and I wanted something to take his mind off that for at least a little while. He needed laughs.

It’s too freaking cold for May, let me tell you. When you can see your breath at night, it’s just not right.

Oh, we took Fat Mojo to the vet last week, and Dr. Jones couldn’t find anything wrong. He checked both front legs and said he didn’t feel anything out of sorts. So, he put Mojo on the floor to watch him walk, but all Mojo did was almost hide in the trash can, low walk, and try to get back in his cage. Low walking, in case you’re wondering, is when he crouches down and runs. It’s pretty amusing. Anyway, with the low walking, Dr. Jones couldn’t see him limp of course, so the Mojo got a cortisone shot, and seems to be all better, so who knows what his deal was. He did let me know how displeased he was about the whole trip when we got home though. He yowled at me for a while and then punished me by going in another room to sleep. Mean, isn’t he?

*BURN UPDATE* It wonders what all the fuss is about over the puppy.

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