Crate living

I'm sitting on the couch. Pooka is lying down and looking sleepy in the new crate. A crate into which she willingly tumbles, I might add. I think she knows she's safe in there.

I am happy my girl is home. She has an appetite, drinks water sometimes when I put it near her face, and is back to growling at the landlord. But it's breaking my heart to see her so beat up, various gashes and swellings, shaved and sutured. And helping her walk with the sling, seeing her little feet slip on the floor. Sadness.

Now she's snoozing, having some good REM sleep, it looks like. I'm distracted and tired -- the pain meds had her up and panting and whining at 2:30, so I took her out for a bit -- but must work.