Poor wee bugger - today started out great for my little feline friend, with the sun shining and the birds singing (watch out - he's got his slitty yellow eye on you!), but took a rapidly downward turn around lunchtime when I evily enticed him into the house with the promise of sweety-chewies, bundled him in to his carry-box (after a short wrestling match - two falls, two submissions and a knock-out!) then into the car for an horrendous mile trip along to the vetinarians to get him a jag up the bum and chipped to tell the world he belongs to me! It's his own fault for adopting me: if he didn't like getting petted so much and fed every day and treated to his sweety-chewies every night then he could go somewhere else to live and get none of these expressions of unconditional love. Still, he's a poor wee bugger. He came home and flaked out on the living-room floor for half-an-hour obviously traumatised from his Great Big Adventure! (he mieows in the car all the way there and all the way back again - it would break my heart if I had one, ha!) And there he is - out for the count on the sofa still having nightmares of fighting dogs in the waiting room and pointy needles in the scruff of the neck:
Oils on board, 40x30cm: "Recovery Position"; But he's a survivor. After sleeping the afternoon away he was right as rain and out to the back garden again to take up where he left off: hunting unsuspecting wee birdies. It's a cruel world!