Frankie's back at the vet again, as he's having difficulty urinating again. He's got a heck of a communication system developed to show me. Yesterday it was climbing into the tub and trying to go in front of me and this morning it was jumping up on the new couch, turning his backside to me, looking over his shoulder at me as he hunkered down, nothing happening. On the one hand, thank gods nothing happened. It's a freaking NEW couch. On the other hand, he couldn't go!
It hasn't even been three weeks since his last stay at the vet and the car-payment sized vet bill. There's only so many of those we can afford before we'll be forced to make a decision that will break my heart.
This giant, orange linebacker of a cat means the world to me. I hate the fear that leaps in my throat and lodges, the sick twisting in my stomach that is the fear of being forced to make decisions I don't want to have to make.
For now, though, he's at the vet--had a shot of muscle relaxant and antibiotic and is being observed. We'll know more this afternoon, and I'll just have to choke back the fear and wait.
He's worth the fear, the wait, the worry.