Crochet has always been the ultimate happy place for me. Sad, nervous, under the weather, bored...all can be made better with a crochet hook and some yarn in my hand.
One of the other things that make my life better is this guy:
Now 2 years old he is quirky and opinionated and sweet, and boy does he love his mama. So when I left for work on Saturday and he looked just too sleepy, my heart sank.
When I came home later that night I realized that he was not eating or drinking and he kept looking at me with loopy eyes. He was still jumping up on top of the water heater to sleep, and still using the bathroom, but something was wrong. In the evening he came to curl up on my lap as he does every evening, but he felt heavier somehow. Joshua had already gone to bed, and since he had to wake up at 4:15am for his first ever 5am work shift, I didn't want to wake him. I stayed up almost the whole night talking to and nuzzling Tobie. When Josh's alarm went off I told him something was wrong. Now I know that I am one of those over nervous types, I always think something is wrong with one of the cats. Ever since I had to put down my cat Angus due to a urinary blockage 4&1/2 years ago I have been on high alert. NO ONE dies around here on my watch. We have had some serious injuries, and my oldest cat even has eye cancer, but we have made it through it all. I was certain that Tobie would make it too. We started around the clock care, with him alone only during the 3 hours between when I leave for work and when Josh comes home. We feed him water with an eye dropper, and introduced eggs (he LOVES eggs). It was not long after feeding him eggs with the dropper that he was lapping them up on his own. He is back to getting up off the couch and walking around. I brought home some Gerber chicken baby food and he ATTACKS it and devours it! He still wants to spend his time on the couch, but he spends more time awake now. His loopy eyes are gone and he even used his Tobie defiant voice when I told him to use the potty (he did anyway though!) He is far more alert and reacts to things around him much more now. He even went up to stand on my shoulder when I picked him up.
The point of the matter is that I found a low point that crochet could not even help. By the 5pm on Sunday I was a sobbing mess questioning the way that I was dealing with the situation. I was too scared to take him to the Vet because I was afraid of what they would tell me, and I was even more afraid that they would be wrong. That they would say "well it looks like his liver is failing, we could do some tests, but by the time we got the results back it is unlikely that he will still be here. He is suffering and you could just end up with more medical bills if we wait." And I respect that that is an educated opinion and will 9 times out of 10 be the right call. I was also so scared that he was going to die right there in my arms, or that it could take days and he would still die. I could not deal with the thought of life without him, I told him he had to get better because his mommy loved him too much, that he was the reason I woke in the morning, and not just because he knocks on the door incessantly until I come out (how cute that sounds now I thought). Panic was tearing through me and my theanine was not the relief that it usually is. I could do nothing but sob and sniffle and blabber uncomprehesively. But then I thought of my cat Mitzie.
I was 9 when she disappeared. I went searching and searching and found her in the forest part at the back end of our property. She had gone there to die. My best friend Rebecca and I tried to coax her into getting up but she was heavy and lethargic and would not get up. I ran back to the house to call my mother and she told me to give the cat some water and some wet food, and that that was all we could do and she was either going to get better or she wouldn't. I went back to Rebecca who was still sitting with Mitzie with the water and the food, told her what my mother had said, and we both cried. I begged Mitzie to try to have some water, I brushed it on her face with my fingers, and eventually she sat up and drank it her self. Happy that I had inspired some progress in her, I followed my mother's advise and went back to the house. I told Mitzie that she needed to get better because I loved her, and I needed her at home, and we left. A day and a half later, Mitzie came walking into the house. Still pretty weak, but fairly hungry. I was so happy I cried again, and Mitzie lived to be 19 years old.
I know that we are not out of the woods, but we have made huge strides in the last day. He has cleaned him self, and continues to eat and use the potty. He gets up to walk around, and although he is kinda weak, he is much stronger than he was before. Right now he is lying beside me wrapped up in my blankie in his happy kitty sleeping pose, and I really do think he is going to be okay.
I feel like I can pick up my hook again. Well, maybe after I bring him his egg.
