So ballistabob takes Scandal the Cat to the vets for his annual checkup and shots, and they decide to do some bloodwork as follow-up from last year's kerfufel among other things.

A couple of days later, Ballistabob receives a phone call from the vet:

"So," says the vet. "Everything seems okay, except that the kidney screening in Scandal's test shows an elevated renal count. We would suggest that you put him in a special diet, and . . . yada, yada, yada." The yada, yada means that you can pick up the food at the vet's office since it's special and it's not for sale elsewhere, etc.

"Yes?" says Ballistabob. "Anything else?"

"Well," says the vet, shuffling her papers. "Uhm . . . it seems that he has had the same levels for the past six years . . ."

"That is accurate."

"Wow. And he even put on weight this past year."

"Oh, yes," replies Ballistabob. "We are accutely aware of that."

"Wow," repeats the vet. "Usually cats with renal count this high wither away and die within a year. Yet your cat is not only alive but putting on weight."

"And thriving," Ballistabob points out helpfully.

"Well, whatever you're doing, keep doing. It's certainly working."

We have come to the conclusion that we probably have an undead cat in our hands. This perky little guy has kept his feisty personality and eating habits through thick and thin. (Thick mainly referring to him.)

I said it once and I'll say it again. When Armageddon comes, it will be Scandal and the cockroaches glowing in the dark and terrorizing the world.

In the meantime, he will spend his time eating preferably gooshy food, sleeping and fighting.

Life can't get much better than that.