Three days had come and gone since the
surgery,
Sylvester spending them drifting between various levels of haze-induced
unconsciousness.
But now he was awake and coming into
awareness.
"Try to speak," the
doctor intoned.
"
Th-thu-thuffering thuckotash?" Sylvester was
confused, his
heart sank.
"Just a moment," the doctor leaned in with a raised eyebrow, "still some
cotton under your
tongue." The offending material was quickly removed.
"Thanks doc, but I still sound--" ....
realization!! "Suffering succotash!! My
lisp, it's
gone!!"
"Yes, now you'll need to take it easy--"
But Sylvester had already leapt from the bed in joy, and was now swirling about the room, belting out with luscious precision, "I could have
daaaanced all night, I could have
daaaanced all night...."
It was then that he noticed his visitor.
"
Tweety!! You came!!"
The little
bird only nodded.
"Hey, listen Tweety, now that my
speech impediment has been cured, I'm finally going to pursue that
career in
Broadway theater I've always dreamed of. No more chasing you around. Thanks, friend," he paused for a moment, overcome by emotion, "you've.... you've really changed my life."
Tweety just shrugged, a grin spreading across his face. "After the Doc did such a good job on my problem.... well.... I
thought I
saw a pussy cat who I could help out too."