Collared

Our boys, who had never worn a collar in their (living with Chaz) lives, took very politely to wearing collars here in California. (The collars have their official animal registry tags on them, in the shape of silver stars, which bang against whatever they're eating from. Which makes it easy to tell if they're eating something in the kitchen. Where they shouldn't be.) Yesterday while we were up in the city (San Francisco, for those of you who mistakenly think "the city" -- or even "the City" -- means someplace else) the boys both managed to lose their (tear-off) collars. This is nothing new for Barry, who loses his often, but odd for Mac. They may have been fighting.

I found them in Chaz's study and put them back on. Mac didn't mind, but Barry fussed. I thought for a moment (remember, this is Barry the "Big Boned"), then felt under his collar. While it didn't feel like it was choking him, I couldn't fit my finger under it, so Chaz extended the collar and I put it back on. It's not too loose, but now I can fit a finger underneath it. We'll see if it stays on this time.

(In completely non-cat-related news, I actually wrote three sentences yesterday on a new story, but the train car was so hot I couldn't concentrate beyond that.)