The joys of pet ownership, part gazillion:

Last week I noticed Bug worrying away at a spot on her leg, to the extent that she had a sore there. Which came first, the sore or the gnawing? I don't know. So we went off to the vet, who did some poking and prodding, gave me some ointment (and ear drops, because I noticed her scratching her ears more than usual) and warned me that I'd need to apply said ointment until the sore healed. In order for the sore to heal, Bug needed to stop chewing at it. And that, well, that means I had to break out the dreaded Elizabethan Collar. Yes, my cat is now a conehead.

She is, of course, miserable. And at first, I felt very sorry for her -- I mean, it can't be fun to wander around with an inverted lampshade around your neck. She looked utterly despondent. Then, of course, she decided that if she was miserable, I damn well better be miserable too. She spent half the night headbutting me with the cone, meaning I kept being woken up by an assault with tupperware. Harumph.

She's settled down a bit, but she keeps looking at me as if weighing the best ways to smother me in my sleep. If you don't hear from me for a while, she may have figured it out.