Well. Kitty persists in her melancholy malaise long past the point of reason. She won't fetch, roll over, or wash the dishes. She just calls over and over "Jeff, Jeff". That may seem sweet, but her pronunciation is terrible and she has a really high pitched voice. It sounds awfully like a cat screeching because nobody will turn on the heat. I get brief periods of respite while she eats her pebbles, which I've started sprinkling all over the apartment in an attempt to prolongthe feast.
Her behavior into this now third day calls for more drastic measures however. I'm sorry to put you through this Belle, but the truth must be told for your own good. I received these pictures from an anonymous tipster today. The pictures are graphic, so I will spare you the after shots. Jeff isn't just buying you souvenirs in Hotlanta, he's cavorting with known dogs. Known dogs!
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