Sometimes, I think that the only thing worse than taking care of kids is taking care of pets.
Pippin went into one of her near-death periods on Saturday. She goes through times of throwing up everything she eats about once or twice a month, and she had been throwing up pretty regularly for three days before Saturday, when she decided to quit eating and drinking, just lay around, look disheveled, walk unsteadily and weakly when she did move, and have a very glazed look in her eyes.
Yes, I freaked out a bit. But then again, she’s 20: her time could be up any day now. I just hope after this weekend that she goes to sleep and never wakes up. But my biggest fear was that she might die on the girls’ birthday. That kind of thing puts a damper on the festivities for 11-year-olds.
For a couple of hours on Saturday, I had her wrapped up in a towel and just held her on my lap. Up until then, she had just been unsettled enough where she didn’t seem to be sleeping–just laying there uncomfortably. But in the towel and on my lap, she seemed to calm down and finally fell asleep.
So we ran some errands.
We came back to find her flopped down on her side in the living room, still looking out of it. I got her settled back down again, and then a few hours later, she was up and heading to the water bowl. Gradually, she took a few more trips, and seemed to be getting better.
This morning, she was moving around more confidently, then had some juice from a can of tuna around lunchtime. Tonight, she hopped up on the couch and begged me for some of my dinner.
Sure, it was just some 24 hour thing that invaded her body and knocked her for a loop. But holy cow…That was not fun. Damned cat.
See you tomorrow.