The other day, there was a message on the answering machine from the vet: Emma’s blood results were normal. That means we continue to administer the same dosage of Tapozole, and she doesn’t have to go back to the vet for three months.
Given the fact that Emma’s been to the vet more times in the last two months than she has been in the last five years, I’m pretty sure Emma was dancing a jig in the living room when she heard this message being recorded. But I’m sure I’m still happier than she is.
Emma’s back. Just tonight, she took a piss (in the box), played with the mouse (a toy), and then rocketed up the basement steps with speed and agility that would make a kitten (and this 36 year-old human) green with envy.
Emma has a thyroid condition. We give her medicine twice a day to treat it, and now that we have the dosage dialed-in, we simply have to do this for the rest of her life. And if I’m still doing it when I’m ninety, I’ll be a happy guy.