I have to admit. I was giving Jamie a run for her money there, for a few days. And I still might.
But I seem better this afternoon.
I whined. And whined. And whined. And whined. And whined.
Not just at night when she put me in the crate (every hour, on the hour, wanting to go outside. And Jamie willingly obliged. SUCKER.)
When I was in my X pen in the kitchen, it didn't matter if Jamie was in the next room over in plain sight, I had to tell her how upset I was. Frequently. Loudly. And more or less continuously.
And then somehow this afternoon, I seem to have pulled it together. Toned it down a little. Given her a break. Maybe I'm starting to realize this place isn't for the birds, and I might like it here. Maybe I realized she's not going to send me to live with birds (whatever that means.) But I calmed down a mite. Had fewer all out drama king fits. Eased up a little, if you will.
But that's not saying I will tomorrow. (Plots in puppy fashion).