Lucy

I think there must be something wrong in the cat-o-sphere.  It all started about two weeks ago when Simone fell to pieces and suffered a wicked UTI because her weak little kidneys and murmuring heart are starting to run out of steam.  A week later, Gwen’s cat Sebastian had a heart attack.  Now this week we had to whisk Miss Lucy to the vet because she’s acting like Thom after a weekend bender (except she lacks a new tattoo).  People of the tri-state area, GUARD YOUR GATOS!

The poor little bugger just started hurling non-stop the second I jumped in the car to cruise down to Virginia.  After a couple of hours and no end in sight, Rocco packed her in her Sherpa Bag and dragged her to the vet.  They shot her full of so many antibiotics and anti-nausea meds she could have been a patient at Sloan-Kettering.  She was poked, prodded, x-rayed, and examined.  Several hours and several hundred dollars later, Rocco left with a diagnosis of “we don’t know what’s wrong with her.”

Fuckers.

So Rocco brought her home and gave her some sweet loving.  She slept off her meds while spooning on the couch with him.  I drank several glasses of wine and giggled profusely while Pegger the Kegger berated her guests for beating her at a game of Marbles.  Then everyone retired to bed for a night of sound sleeping – except for Lucy.

Rocco called the next morning to say the girl had made it through most of the night, but had taken a bad turn in the wee hours of the morning.  He called into work and dragged her furry, lethargic booty back to the vet.  More fluids, more shots, more fun.  Then to add insult to injury, they shaved her belly and gave her an ultrasound, just to verify what the slightly less expensive X-ray from the evening before had confirmed – no blockages.  So the vet was back to no theories.

By this time, I was somewhere in Maryland struggling with my own issues: (Taco Bell + Twizzlers) Terrified = Tummy Trauma

Rocco carried her re-hydrated and highly medicated bag of bones back to the apartment.  The poor thing had been pumped so full of fluids via sub-cutaneous shots that he could see the saline leaking from the injection sites on her shaved abdomen.  Maybe Josie should try and work that into her act.

Many miles and urgent bathroom stops later, I finally made it home around 9pm last night.  Since then she’s been…wait for it…perfectly fine.  So of course while I’m incredibly relieved and thrilled she seems to have triumphed over whatever bizzaro bug got into her system, I can’t help but grumble a bit about driving for eighteen of the thirty-six hours I spent away from Hoboken.

Knock on wood, but all seems to be well.  We’ve had a lazy day chillaxin’ and I’m still trying to convince her to drink some water.  Here’s hoping we can make it another week or so before we’re back at the Hoboken Animal Hospital.  Oh wait, Simone’s due for a follow-up already.