Whatever it was that happened to Ellie Wyatt, and I profess to not knowing as no one would ever know, it has scared the treacle out of him.  Since he came home from his surgery he has not moved more than a few feet in either direction of the dining room.   In fact this evening I found him asleep in his cat carrier, no doubt he feels safest in there than anywhere.  When the need takes him he will visit the litter box, or if he is feeling a little adventurous he will poke himself through the cat door and pee and poo right outside the kitchen door and then scoot right back through the cat door and take up his place either on my computer chair or the dining room table.

My husband was afraid that he would become the villain in the entire affair, it was he, after all, that took him to the vets.  Quite the contrary, it would appear that while prior to the vet visit Ellie Wyatt treated him with a sort of quiet disdain, now he adores him.  It occurs to me that Ellie now sees him as the nice man who took away the pain.  He never fails to lift his head for a scritch whenever my husband goes through to the kitchen for a soda, and he actively seeks him out for lap time.

I cannot say that I am upset that Ellie has become a homebody, there are so many dangers in Eastern North Carolina for cats.   Nevertheless, he is free to do what he feels is best, and right now he feels that his entire world consists of the dining room.  I am cool with that.


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