Susan the cat mommy had a bad week.
Normally, the little bastard bothers the crap out of me. He's the reason I can't get a new couch. And the reason there are little shreds of paper everywhere. And why I can't sleep past 5:45. But I missed his cute little face, and how lays down on the count of three, and how he jumps into the fridge when I open it, and gets in the way when I take a shower... And Arlo the cat did nothing but whine for the 48 hours Leroy was gone. Cute, maybe. Annoying? Definitely.
I was overcome with fear, guilt and anxiety for the two days he was in kitty hospital. Fear and anxiety because I didn't know what the hell was going on or how much it was going to cost me, and despite repeated promises by staff, the vet did not call me after Leroy's first night to tell me what was wrong. And, I had turned to my friend, the paranoia inducing internet to diagnose the cat. Leukemia? Fatty Liver disease? Blockage? He had it all. And diagnosis was bad. Feeding tubes. Death. Surgery. I was left wondering which of the various scenarios it was going to be, for two days straight. And wondering just how much money I was willing to spend to keep him alive.
The guilt came from the fact that I was putting a monetary value on his little life and because, had I been home more the last week, I might have noticed the wound on him before it became an infectious money-sucking evil-doer. Actually, if I was a better person, I would have stayed home and kept an eye on him once I found it. But i didn't. I cleaned it out, pat him on the head, and proceeded to spend the next 24 hours hanging out with Prof and kayaking and generally making myself happy. All while Leroy's liver was shutting down and the little bacterial douchebags were taking over.
I was so upset and anxious yesterday before the vet called me that I could literally feel the tension in my face. I was pouting all day. Smiling was an effort, and I didn't do a whole lot of it. I hate not being in control of a situation. And, the fact that Leroy's whole little life was completely out of my hands really got to me. I'm much better at crises when I'm fully in charge. Too bad I gave up on the idea of being a veterinarian in 7th grade (you have to dissect baby kittens? Uh-uh).
A couple bags of IV fluids and antibiotics and two nights in kitty hospital has brought him back to life. As prof so astutely told me yesterday "Good. Now that you've got your kitty back, you can go right back to hating him again."
So true, because at 5:40 this morning, I kinda wished he was still hooked up to IV's so I could sleep.