Griever is feeling better already -- so much better he's taken to pouncing on my face. I know that bum-wiggle, and that stare, and it's pretty disconcerting to have it aimed at your nose. Jump-pounce-swat-swat-skitter-repeat.
I told him I'm gonna get him some kitty-sleeping-pills, maybe some kitty-tranquilizers or kitty-pot. Then he can get kitty-stoned and lay around eating treats out of the bag, playing kitty-o games like Feline Fantasy Tactics and Grand Theft Clawto and Spaylo.
QWP, AFK, TARDIS, insert exciting acronym here. Go on, read the entire post. You know you want to. Unless you don't. In which case you should do it anyway.