Spotted a suspicious line of rust red paw prints this morning. Oh, lord. “Kevin, does this look like blood trail to you…?”
And then there was much freaking and checking of stool for blood and pinning of scruffs and palpitating of paw pads and attempting to catch Angus.
Hmm. Angus…did not want to be caught. Most cats go limp when you scruff ’em, Angus, normally the most pleasant and good-natured of little beasts, turned into a psycho and went tearing through the house. We tried to capture him several times, a pair of oversized, half-dressed herd dogs chasing a very small sheep with very impressive cornering.
Finally we did what pet owners have done since time immemorial…”Y’know, he’s obviously not limping.” “Yeah, I’d say he’s fine.”
And then I looked at my most recent painting, and the suspiciously large bare spot in the middle of the Tuscan Red wash, and said “Oh, for god’s sake.” A quick spot test, and yup, came up instantly, so it was watercolor, not blood.
Still, much better than the alternative.
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