When Your Cat is Sick

When your cat is sick, your world becomes a whole lot smaller.

“I see something on her nose,” my wife said. We both look at her nose. Is it a scar? A wound? A raw part?

‘Schnitt!’ Bobble the cat exclaims, shaking her head. Not really a sneeze, but something else. A possibly respiratory issue?

Was the mark on her nose caused by our two new kittens? How could it be – she hasn’t let the ‘Terrible Twosome’ near her. Still, do the brothers have something to do with this?

I begin to feel guilty again. Adopting the kittens was my idea and the hope was that 12-year-old Bobble would accept them as the kids she never has. It has not worked out like that. An uneasy truce pervades the house with occasional hisses of territoriality coming from Bobble.

But Bobble is sick, and we know it. I watched her tentatively try to drink from the water dish this morning. She was having an issue putting her right paw down – the paw that had slipped over the calming collar we thought would help her bond with the kittens. She licked at the water a few times and gave up.

I found her floundering around in the living room a few days ago, and noticed that her right leg had been thrust forward into some grotesque fascist salute (stop laughing!). It took a minute or two to figure out what was causing this and free her from the ‘calming collar.’

Perhaps her paw is sore. ‘Chudznit!’ Bobble again makes this strange noise. We must get her to the Vet.

She is not herself. She would not sit with me this morning; instead she ‘catloafed’ herself on the ottoman, nervously watching the ‘Kittens from Hell.’ This is all my fault, I know. I thought it would work. If we all played nice.

But Bobble has ruled the roost alone for 12 years. And her I overwhelmed her with two zealous bobcats, zipping hither and yon over carpet and tile that was once her sole domain.

I should not have talked my wife into this. Poor kitty. And it is all my fault. My wife assures me it is not but as an empath, I can see it in Bobble’s eyes – the hurt and the betrayal. ‘How could you,’ her eyes accuse me. ‘Was I not enough for the two of you?’

And now she is sick and somehow, I think it is was caused by her depression over my betrayal.

My wife says I’m engaging in anthropomorphism. I say Bobble is a living creature with thoughts and feelings.

We take her to the Vet at 6 p.m.

May the gods have mercy on my soul.

(update after Vet visit)

Bobble was a good, but subdued cat on the table. The kind Vet gave her lungs and heart a clean bill of health. Yes, the other cats in the house might have traveled with some respiratory viruses (it happens) but there’s a shot for that Bobble got plus some powder for her meals.

The shot lasts for two weeks. And hopefully everything will be OK.

And I can relax. And let the guilt go.