Apparently the Universe thought I was bored.
Put aside for the moment the fact that I haven’t slept a full night’s sleep for two weeks, that an attempt to correct that gave me a several days where I became physically incapable of sleeping (and of course made all the body crap worse), and don’t consider that I’m working balls-to-the-wall to finish a novel due PDQ or any of the usual daily stuff like we don’t have clean clothes or dishes or have any food to eat. Because if you drop that, apparently, I looked bored, and so I’ve been given ANOTHER sick cat. What is it this time?
ASTHMA. No, really. Cat asthma. Yes, they make that too.
This time it’s Bingley, the sweetest cat on the planet unless you’re a bug or a bat, at which point you die slowly and painfully for his amusement. He’s always had this weird wheezing thing, which turns out to be a cough, actually, but it was just occasional until right before our trip when it happened a lot more. In a fit of brillance born out of utter emotional weariness after two cancer hopsices, we decided to just ignore it and hope it went away. It did not, so when we got home we took him to the vet and got the asthma diagnosis and more pills to stuff in a cat.
So we gave him antibiotics and steroids, and then more antibiotics, and then more steroids, and today we said, “You know, he needs to go back in,” and we made an appointment for tomorrow because our vet isn’t open on Wednesday. And then at seven Bingley, who has been hiding in the closet and breathing weird all day, has the mother of all coughing fits and begins to look Bad. I give him his med and try to get him to eat, and Bingley, the cat who will fucking eat the butter from your mouth, will not eat. And so we call the ISU emergency vet.
(Side note: We live in Ames, home of the ag university, so we have the best vets in the state literally down the street and open 24/7. It is a fucking nice perk.)
It turns out he isn’t quite as bad as he could be yet, but they gave us a list of things to watch for and instructions to monitor him the rest of the night. So he’s in my office with me as all sick cats are, and he has his litter box and his a/d food with chicken broth and all our stomachs in knots. I did get him to drink a bunch of broth and then spoon-fed him about four full teaspoonfuls of watered-down food, which is apparently a very good sign because cats who are having a hard time breathing won’t eat or drink for fear of not getting enough oxygen. They also use their whole body to pump their lungs, have blue mucus membranes, and when the shit hits the fan, open-mouth breathe. So that’s our list to watch for all night (finally, insomnia has utility!), plus we’re going to slip him his morning steroid about two or three AM. All we have to do is make it until 9:30 tomorrow morning and we won’t have to pay $85 emergency fee plus other charges. We’ll just have to pay the usual fees and bloodworks and the other stuff. All I can say is thank god the money tree is just about to bloom.
Anyway. What a blog post, eh? Yeah, it’s a party. But I think Bingley is going to be okay. I have to repeat that every now and again, because you get very stupid after two cats die in less than a year, and everything looks like death. But he’s going to be okay, because it’s just asthma, we have ISU down the road, and Bingley heard Dan promise to give him cereal milk for the rest of his life if he sticks around.
Probably won’t hurt to swing by Grandma’s Attic on Welch and pick up a second statue of Bast, though.
And, Universe? NOT BORED. NOT AT ALL. Thank you for your interest but please continue on.