I just watched a police officer sit across from my building for about 5 minutes, which wouldn't be disturbing except that when I came back from the vet with Rube, there was a silver Malibu sitting in the same spot. It's prolly nothing, but with the latest crap coming from the Crackhead camp these days, the paranoia's running a bit rampant, I must admit.

So, when the vet walks in with a 300-pound vet tech equipped with gloves and a towel, would that give y'all pause? Yeah, that's how it went down with Rube's appointment this morning. See the last time we were there, he BIT the vet, and I guess that was marked on his chart. Heh. Anyway, it turns out that the explosive diarrhea he's been having for the last month or so is apparently a direct result of the food I switched him to, so we need to go back to the old stuff. The doc said it could also be IBS -- which in cats is often a precursor to intestinal cancer -- but since Rube is relatively young and not showing signs of being sick, it's likely not. Oh, and there's the matter of giving him an antibiotic once every day for the next two weeks, though; thank God it's a liquid, because that might be marginally easier than shooting him a pill.

The best part of the appointment: When the woman vet tech tried to force Rube out of his carrier by tipping it forward, and he planted his front paws firmly against the lip of opening. My boy's a smart one, make no mistake. In fact, I was quite sure that had I left him alone in the carrier for any length of time, he'd have gotten himself out of it. Oh yes, he would. As it was, he was working on the lock as we were driving there.

[UPDATE: Okaaaaaaay ... A third officer was just here about an hour ago, but he parked down the street for about 10 minutes before pulling away. Curiouser and curiouser ...]