It seemed to be a bright sunny morning over there in Vermont!
On our side of the border…it’s been a bit wet, again.
Thunder which started at about 9 pm yesterday continued through the night, accompanied by torrents of rain.
At 4 am I was grovelling around on the floor again after a cat that chose this uncivilised hour to vomit copiously.
We are having one of those anxious episodes during which the cats seem to be competing for attention.
Not because they feel a lack of it, just because they can.
First it was Lucy.
Since she lost her eyesight her world is so small. She either sits along side me at my desk or just behind under a bench where she feels safe.
When she feels insecure she wails and I comfort her. She doesn’t want to be held, just to know where I am.
But a few days ago she stopped eating.
A cat may stop eating for any number of reasons and it’s up to you to figure it out before kitty becomes a skeleton.
For more substantial cats this isn’t such a pressing issue, as long as you can be sure they are drinking.
Lucy is mostly fluff.
Mindful of a weekend approaching, we tried to sort out the problem, but before we found an answer, Madame decided to break her fast.
We could now revert to worrying mainly about dear old Toby who looks more mournful every day.
He still clamours to go out for a walk and he scoffs dry treats enthusiastically.
He still loves to be petted.
Quality of life.
But yesterday another of our furry friends was suddenly not herself.
Independent, self-assured, endlessly energetic Ms Lily declared her batteries were flat, remaining all day in bed.
Unheard of. Never happens.
My opinion was that she heard Grant mention that she needed her twice-weekly “ear smear” of prednisone.
Lily has always been a mind reader. Just think about medicating her and she’s off.
Happily, by bedtime she was up.
We retired to a night of sleep disturbed by the constant grumble of thunder, pelting rain and another sound which made me wonder if there might be a hole in the roof.
And, unaccountably, fireworks.
Then at 4 o’clock the tuneful sound of a retching cat. Since Muffin and her hairball issues, we always like to pin down which cat they eject from.
4 am is her favourite time.
When Grant appeared in dawn’s early light, it was with unwelcome news: Penny had also been vomiting all night.
She is our other geriatric kitty. With all of her issues, we keep a close eye, so we gave her anti-nausea medication. She licked at her breakfast and seemed alright, so we set about our day.
Then she vomited again.
We have the vet on speed dial.
It’s as well none of our plans are terribly important because the mere possibility of one of the cats being sick supersedes all else.
We function like a well-oiled machine. From the moment we get the word to bring our patient down, 3 minutes flat and we are out the door.
Possibly a bit longer when it’s a more able-bodied cat, in which case it seems to recover from whatever ailment was so afflicting it instantaneously, disappearing with tres grande vitesse.
While Grant took Penny inside I sat admiring the window boxes.
Penny was going to be “fitted in”, so we carried on to Greenwich.
Finally I got a picture of the old farm stand opposite the veterinary clinic.
It has not changed in all the time we’ve been here.
Sometimes I think there are vegetables to be bought.
But I wouldn’t count on it.
By the time we got home, there was good news about Penny. Nothing seriously wrong.
Chances are she would have been fine through the weekend.
Is it better to over-react?
Erring on the side of caution has always been my choice but with so many cats in my care and the world in such a muddle, you have to consider the future.
Good luck predicting that, right?
We’ll concentrate on getting through the weekend and worry about whatever comes up next, when it happens!