Poor Mips.

She needs medication for her kidneys. She does not like it.

Every evening at about eight, M or I start moving. This means it's time for her pill and oil. Tonight she hid under an armchair in the living room, and sat there quietly, thus escaping the unavoidable for several minutes. But we always catch her in the end, and put that detestable pill in her mouth.

She has become quite clever. She can swallow and make a quick lick of her lips, and then spit it out a while later. Now and then we find one, dried, on the floor. And she knows perfectly well that we don't want to hold her when she claws at out fingers.

There's certainly temper left in her, even if she only has one kidney.
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Karin Margareta

December 2024

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