Mabel still is not quite right. Her appetite is greatly reduced, and she seems only interested in small nibbles of dandelion leaves, the occasional blade of succulent grass, and carrot tops. The burbling and gurgling form her insides is alarming at times – unfeasibly loud, like a mad scientist's chemistry lab – but she's happy, generally comfortable, though subdued.
Previously, she would be somewhat resistant to accepting strokes, but now she will sit for hours being stroked, grinding contentedly away. She even lets us insinuate a hand between her tummy and the carpet… if we'd tried that at the beginning of the week, we'd be in for an encounter with razor blade teeth.
So it's a waiting game. Ensuring all medication is administered, encouraging eating and drinking, and goading her into some activity.
Dijon, meanwhile, is showing his displeasure. He's not accepting strokes if Mabel is close by, he sits with his back to her, and he's having a bit of a sulk. At times he wants to sit alongside her and give her a groom, but she seems to smell odious to him.
Another waiting game for her normal scent to return.
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