It never ceases to amaze me at how fiercely and completely we can love our pets. Nor the depth of fear that chokes us when one of them is sick and we are faced with potential decisions of life and death. 26 years ago I lost my cat Lincoln to a bad urinary tract infection. Lincoln looked almost identical to Frankie, and I loved him terribly. I was devastated when I lost Lincoln my senior year in high school, enough to check out from school, writing death in the family as the reason. Eight years ago, we lost Shadow for similar reasons.
We caught it early with Frankie. He's at the vet, getting cathed and they'll figure out how bad it is, what they can do. And I will try not to hyperventilate over the next 24 hours.
I love all my cats, but there's a special place in my heart for Frankie. He sleeps on my chest; he reminds me of both Lincoln and Shadow, and after all the losses this year of three other beloved animals, I'm not ready, so he better be okay. It better be fixable.
Oh, and on a side note, taking a cat to the vet is actually more panic inducing in me than getting on a plane. Good to know.
Crafted for your viewing consumption by Kim Wombles