I couldn't fix the windows, but I could fix the loneliness. So I got a cat.
|Head not included.|
I've got a soft spot for the loners, so I took her home with me. She turned out to be a dream cat. Super cuddly, gentle with her claws, very ladylike, and smart enough to open doors.
Also, I am WICKEDLY allergic to her. I never had a cat before, so I had no idea this would happen. But I couldn't take her back. She kneads on my arm, grooms my hair, and snuggles my chin while I go into some minor form of anaphylaxis. Worth it.
Poe is such an amazing cat that I ended up getting two more over the next couple of years (yes, I am also allergic to them) as well as a dog. But she will always be my first roommate, my first baby, and my bestest friend.
|Top: Best friend and companion. Bottom: Baby manatee.|
I am a compulsive internet searcher when it comes to ailments of any kind. I tell people that my general practitioner is Dr. Google and I'm only half-joking about it. The main problem with "visiting" Dr. Google is that you usually get two options about what could be wrong: 1.) something likely and reasonable, and 2.) horrible cancerous death. Being a writer, I will ALWAYS believe it's horrible cancerous death.
So in the case of bloody urine: 1.) urinary tract infection, requiring antibiotics, or 2.) kidney failure, requiring DEATH.
I was reeling. I wept all over my house for about an hour. You know, an "OH GOD MY CAT IS GOING TO DIE" drama kind of thing. Mind you, my cat was content and purring the whole time I was flipping out. BUT MAYBE SHE WAS PURRING BECAUSE SHE WAS DYING.
So I rushed her off to the vet and got their very first appointment for the morning booked. (I showed up a half hour early.)
Poe was quiet on the whole ride over, and when I let her out of the carrier, she immediately curled in my lap purring again (DEATH PURR). Never mind that Poe has always been a weirdo who likes car rides. Her silence could only mean HORRIBLE IMMINENT DEATH.
She flopped on her back, paws in the air, and let the vet probe her, which she probably thought meant I had taken her to a spa where nice ladies give belly massages. Meanwhile, I was CONVINCED that her lethargy meant she was going to DIE, and already drafting her eulogy in my head and swearing I would never love again.
I sobbed when they took her in back for a blood sample. Yeah. That's right. Sobbed. I'm not ashamed to admit it.
When they brought her out, I had already made my peace with the Great Cat in the Sky. But the smiling vet lady handed her back to me (still purring, despite her fashionable leg warmer bandages) and said that Poe looked like she was in great health, had a minor urinary tract infection, and that she probably peed a little blood because she's irritated. They gave me antibiotics and a $200 vet bill (!!!) and sent me on my way.
So... my cat's not dead.
|She does, however, think I'm a total drama queen.|
I'll figure it out later. I need to rest for my headache, which is either a fatal case of dengue fever, oncoming leprosy, or from crying over a perfectly fine cat. (I bet it's dengue fever.)