I want our Emma back. This Emma we have now is unhappy and sleeps under the bed in the basement. The Emma we have now had a bout of diarrhea last week. (Yeah, diarrhea. And folks, feline diarrhea is not something you want to be dealing with.) The Emma we have now is very suspicious of my intentions whenever I try to coax her from under the bed, since sometimes when I do that I have an eyedropper ful of this sickly-sweet smelling pink stuff that the vet told us to give her. Give her, yeah right. 'Give' implies a mutual transaction, as in "Here Emma, have some of this stuff", and she happily laps it all up, looks me in the eye and says "why thank you Rob, that was mighty tasty." No, I don't give her this stuff, I administer it to her.
I've gotten quite skilled in the art of force-feeding droplets of sickly-sweet smelling pink stuff to Emma, but Emma always wins. Her latest tactic to avoid the medication is to simply barf it all back up -- along with breakfast -- on the bed. She used to sleep on the bed, now she sleeps under it. And pukes on top of it.
Emma is 14 years old, and starting to show it.
This all started a little over a week ago, and a couple of trips to the vet have so far revealed that she has feline hyperthyroidism, a condition that is very treatable with expensive drugs that she will start on tomorrow. But she still has other symptoms that the vet says would not be caused by the thyroid being out of whack. So, tomorrow morning Brenda will place Emma in her carrier, get in the car, and enjoy a swift drive to the vet; since Emma's continual wailing whenever she is in the car is akin to a fire engine's siren, people tend to pull over and let us speed by.
Emma's malaise has caused me to miss visiting with Brenda's mom, who is recuperating from a broken leg in Kentucky. It's also caused me to miss my good friend's surprise birthday party, and missing the party isn't anything as bad as the abuse I'm going to get from him when he hears the reason I missed it. John hates cats, you see.
I don't like seeing her like this. I want Emma v1.0 back. I miss her. She's our child, for crying out loud. Progress reports to follow. Meanwhile, have a look at this empathy-building photograph:
lighting simulationist, crossfitter, former drinker.