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Go cristall teares

Today I sat with my cat in my lap and tried to cry. I almost managed it, but all sorts of thoughts about things I had to manage or consider kept willing up and my self-control kept reasserting itself. Whether I wanted it to or not.

I have to be strong. I have to keep him on a schedule with meds (which he hates), give him fresh food and water, administer fluids, keep an eye on him for distress, look for signs of vomiting, get to work on time. Repeat in the evening, except for the fluids. There's something very visceral and in-your-face about sticking pills down a cat's throat (and doing it again, and again, because your aim was off and he spat out the pill) and especially about prepping the bag of fluid and the needle and the nerve-wracking yet surreal experience of the wait, while the fluid drips and the cat gets restless and 100 ml of fluid makes its way down a tiny tube and actually into your cat.

And I look for some lingering sign of that joy in life for which he was always so notable: an inquiring mew and a tiny face looking up at you, already starting to purr; an arched back and a quivering tail, as you start to pet him, eyes closed in bliss; a sandpaper tongue, lavishly licking your hand if you bring it near him; an unexpected paw in your personal space, patting your face, claws not quite in, signaling "I'm here! I'm here!"

I can't be strong enough to do any of this well; I can't cry either.

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Comments

jlrpuck
Sep. 23rd, 2008 02:30 am (UTC)
I had to administer fluids to my landlords cat, back when I rented in a house. I loved that cat like it was my own, and it was still exhausting, and tiring, and frustrating, and I often wondered if I was a bad person because I sometimes thought "I wish it was over."

*hugs*
np_complete
Sep. 25th, 2008 10:51 pm (UTC)
*hugs back*

My cat has been very good about fluids for the last few days, but yesterday my PC went "Ding!" in another room and he shot off the table like he'd just been paged. I had to track him down and restart after he'd calmed down.