igor

igor. Eeeeeeegor. Yeah, *sneeze*, that's me. I'm igor. It's igor, not Igor, by the way. I'm igor because of my poor posture. I'm igor because I'm emaciated. Mom is very worried about me. I don't maintain my own body heat, she says. I don't eat enough, she says. I don't drink enough, she says. Does a little igor like me do anything right?

Mom thinks I'm a kook. I think I'm pretty normal. So I ate three of my toes down to the knuckles. I thought they tasted mighty fine! She was, after all, the one who complained about me not eating enough. I ate, and she still complains! Sheesh.

I'm in a sick-house at the moment. It's OK there. I have a hammock with Nupreem, the only food I seem to eat with any regularity. Mom says she doesn't care what I eat for the time being, just that I eat. I just don't do anything right.

I have a roommate right now who's got a bad respiratory infection. His name is Dante. I like him and all, but I don't like sleeping by him because he's too noisy and that evil Mom of ours stuck a heating pad under our cage and keeps cranking the heat up so, as she says, we'll feel as warm as the other two bald rats. My memory fails me. I don't remember any other bald rats.

Yikes! I've just been scolded. Here we go again. Mom says sleep or drink or eat or something and just shut-up already! I'm expending too much energy in the wrong place, she says. Nag nag nag nag NAG! Sheeeesh!