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cats: that bush

[ Loiosh, an orange tabby wearing a green harness with a blue bowtie on it, stands in a couple inches of snow on the slope of a hill. His leash is taut behind him to the left, and he’s looking (and pulling) to the right. ]
Loiosh wanted to go out in the snow. Perfectly reasonable! Especially given that Tom had had his turn the day before! But then, disaster struck! (chill, he’s fine)

[ He’s standing on his hindlegs, one forepaw braced on a hummock of snow, the other stuck into a tangle of underbrush, along with his head. ]
See that? Some of that is poison ivy. ASK ME HOW I KNOW.
It’s been almost two weeks as of me writing this (much more by the time this posts, of course) & I have MOSTLY stopped itching.
See, I’m the one who hauled his butt out of the bush.

[ Loiosh is walking out of frame, to the lower right. His tail and leash are still in the bush, thought. ]
& then the next day … welp.
Loiosh was, at least, appropriately apologetic? & kept me company a lot.

[ A close view of Loiosh’s face, turned to the left. Big white whiskers are almost brushing the camera. ]
That’s him laying on my chest. I was GONNA get out of bed, but then, welp. I guess I needed to sleep more. Maybe he even felt a little bad about getting me all ivied up!

[ Loiosh is almost facing the camera now; his ears are stuck out at a variety of angles and he looks EXTREMELY skeptical. ]
… nah
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I did dump a bunch of vinegar over it, & I'm gonna do it again once it's got leaves out so I can tell which part of the bush it is. Which is also effective, if not near so cathartic.
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Boiling water over the roots, once you identify the fuckers, is pretty cathartic.
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