Happy to be home, my feline twins

I know lots of my blog buddies have pets. We took the girls in for their operations. They are six months old and it was time. Heaven knows there are enough unwanted pets in the world.
They did well. We missed them terribly. Buster wasn't himself. Sady didn't care much.

Home they returned. We had strict orders to keep them quiet. We were supposed to keep them from licking or chewing their stitch.  Don't let them outdoors. Give them their antibiotics every morning for three days. A wee oral syringe.

They were very happy to be home. But slow them down? Nope. I thought we'd have a quiet play in the living room. They were up and down, grabbing one thing and another. Sigh.
Buster growled at them. I'm not sure why. He adores them. They did smell, well, antiseptic!

Daisy ended up on my shoulder in the bathroom. (This is Dorah's usual trick.)

By dinner time, finally sleepy, I was checking their stitches. I thought I'd take a photo just to see baseline, what they looked like. You have to watch for infection.
I checked Daisy, then Dorah. Daisy's stitch, 30 hours after surgery, had gone!
We were in the middle of a blizzard, 18 cm total, and there was no way we were driving 40km to find the on-call vet.
Besides, I had a big gash in my finger last year. The ER nurse told me that after 24 hours they don't bother stitching it, as it won't close. We watched her like a hawk. The wound seems fine. I checked her at 5 a.m., still fine.
Up I got, once dawn arrived, ready to shovel snow again.

I nearly choked them, giving them their meds. Two more doses each.

 The tree branches, heavily laden with wet snow, were falling off of our old pines. I tried to take a photo from the door. Daisy escaped. Then she came to the door. Dorah escaped when I tried to let her in. Daisy, then Dorah came in. All is well with the world.