Three weeks into medicating our Mad Pooper, and the only change in behavior we’ve noticed is that he may nap even MORE now. Yes, he somehow sleeps twenty-six hours a day. He continues to leave us daily “gifts” in the living room, however, and relentlessly torment his furry sister, Wayne Arnold-style.
Mr. Candy and I wonder if the vet took Matty’s, um, big-bonedness into consideration when deciding how much Kitty Prozac to give him. We are supposed to rub .05 ml — a little-wittle, teensy-weensy amount, as they say in the animal medical community — of the gel on his ear; I suspect this is akin to expecting John Goodman to get drunk off a Tropical Mango wine cooler.
If only Matty were receiving John Goodman-sized TV residuals. Then he could poop in my cereal bowl for all I cared. (Matty, not John Goodman. Okay… John Goodman, too.)