The resident incapacitated tandem is now bonafide members of the new contemplative order of Omicron. Our vocal cords are currently malfunctioning. So I guess it is a good thing that technology affords us to be expressive by text and chat and squeaks. My throat is still a war zone, suffice it to say.
The sentient clouds did not know how to deal with my squeaking though. When I opened my door to get my food. FatBacon ran towards my door, paused, and rocked back and forth not knowing how to interpret my squeaky “No, baby boy.” and the sight of my door’s gate. He just gave me a quizzical look, puzzled at the odd noise I was making. FiestyArya watched the whole thing with the same confused look, her head tilted to one side and a paw suspended halfway up.
Now, I miss my sexy bedroom voice.
Sometime later, Pogi reclaimed his throne near my door. The fluffball greeted me with a sad meow and extended a paw. I gave him a quick scrootch before he got distracted by YemaNaMakulit who tried to rush into my cave through the gate (she’s small enough to fit through). My loyal fluffball took notice and promptly pawed her into stopping. I wish I could hug him to thank him. Pogi is now my Fluffy Sentinel.
