hand in my throat: tuesday (cat)

Last night was bad. I tried to give Tuesday her asthma pill, wrapped in a treat, and instead of eating it, she backed off, smacked me, and hissed. I realized she was breathing heavily; her sides were heaving. I herded her up to my room and shut the door, hoping to coax her into taking the pill. She yelled at me and ran under the bureau. I knew something was wrong. But I couldn't do much, so I got ready for bed. At about 10:50, I looked down and saw Tuesday on the floor, on her side, half out from under the dresser, gasping. And, of course, I panicked. I called Adam, who told me to get Jason or Danny. Jason came up and picked Tuesday up off the floor (she protested with a strangled yowl) and we sat with her on the bed. I took out a pill, wrapped it in enough of a treat to cover it, and as Jason held her down, I tried to force it into her mouth. My hands were shaking. She scratched me. It was 11:00. We called Danny in. He got it down her throat; she bit through his thumb. We let her go. She stumbled toward the pillows and collapsed on her side, still gasping. We waited. It didn't look bad enough to warrent a drive to the emergency clinic, and the last time this happened, the pill took effect while Adam and I were driving to the clinic. So we waited. Jupiter came in and jumped on the bed, mewing. He looked at Tuesday, then began sniffing her and nuzzling her and licking her, something he'd never been able to do before. He settled in on a pillow and watched her. Occasionally he tried to bap her on the head but I swatted his paw. Jason and I stroked her and listened to her breathing. Her tongue went in and out, but did not hang out, which meant it wasn't life-threatening -- yet. We waited. At 11:30, Jason held her again and together we got a second pill down her throat. When we let her go, she went back toward the pillows and lay on her side. At 11:45, she sat up a little, then jumped weakly off the bed and crouched, meat-loaf style, on the floor between a nest of pillows, the bed, and the wall. Jason and I decided she was simply secluding herself so she could relax and heal. Jason went back to his room. I stayed awake until just after midnight, laying on the edge of the bed and watching Tuesday. When I reached down to pet her, she growled and ran under the bed. I didn't like that. There are plastic bins under the bed on that side that are heavy. I went on the other side and got on the floor and tried to see her in the dark. I saw a shape curled up next to the bins. There was no way I could reach her. I went to bed and slept deeply. When I woke up, I checked under the bed. That curled-up shape was still there. I didn't smell anything. I went around the bed and tried to move the bins to try and get her to move. When I checked again, the shape was gone. I went to the end of the bed and lifted the blankets. There she was, looking extremely pissed off. When I reached for her, she let out an enraged warning yowl that sounded a little strangled, and she swatted at me with claws. But I figured that as long as she was audibly fighting, she was okay. She was breathing. She was moving. She was angry. Those were good signs. A pissed off Tuesday is a good thing. Jupiter came in, mewed for her, then jumped on top of the bed. I scratched his head. He purred reassuringly. I had to leave for work. I told him to watch over her.
I don't know what I'll find when I come home tonight. I hope to the gods she'll be on top of the bed, or in her shoebox under the windowsill, or down in the living room, or playing with Jupiter.
Hope with me?

hand in my throat: tuesday (cat)

Last night was bad. I tried to give Tuesday her asthma pill, wrapped in a treat, and instead of eating it, she backed off, smacked me, and hissed. I realized she was breathing heavily; her sides were heaving. I herded her up to my room and shut the door, hoping to coax her into taking the pill. She yelled at me and ran under the bureau. I knew something was wrong. But I couldn't do much, so I got ready for bed. At about 10:50, I looked down and saw Tuesday on the floor, on her side, half out from under the dresser, gasping. And, of course, I panicked. I called Adam, who told me to get Jason or Danny. Jason came up and picked Tuesday up off the floor (she protested with a strangled yowl) and we sat with her on the bed. I took out a pill, wrapped it in enough of a treat to cover it, and as Jason held her down, I tried to force it into her mouth. My hands were shaking. She scratched me. It was 11:00. We called Danny in. He got it down her throat; she bit through his thumb. We let her go. She stumbled toward the pillows and collapsed on her side, still gasping. We waited. It didn't look bad enough to warrent a drive to the emergency clinic, and the last time this happened, the pill took effect while Adam and I were driving to the clinic. So we waited. Jupiter came in and jumped on the bed, mewing. He looked at Tuesday, then began sniffing her and nuzzling her and licking her, something he'd never been able to do before. He settled in on a pillow and watched her. Occasionally he tried to bap her on the head but I swatted his paw. Jason and I stroked her and listened to her breathing. Her tongue went in and out, but did not hang out, which meant it wasn't life-threatening -- yet. We waited. At 11:30, Jason held her again and together we got a second pill down her throat. When we let her go, she went back toward the pillows and lay on her side. At 11:45, she sat up a little, then jumped weakly off the bed and crouched, meat-loaf style, on the floor between a nest of pillows, the bed, and the wall. Jason and I decided she was simply secluding herself so she could relax and heal. Jason went back to his room. I stayed awake until just after midnight, laying on the edge of the bed and watching Tuesday. When I reached down to pet her, she growled and ran under the bed. I didn't like that. There are plastic bins under the bed on that side that are heavy. I went on the other side and got on the floor and tried to see her in the dark. I saw a shape curled up next to the bins. There was no way I could reach her. I went to bed and slept deeply. When I woke up, I checked under the bed. That curled-up shape was still there. I didn't smell anything. I went around the bed and tried to move the bins to try and get her to move. When I checked again, the shape was gone. I went to the end of the bed and lifted the blankets. There she was, looking extremely pissed off. When I reached for her, she let out an enraged warning yowl that sounded a little strangled, and she swatted at me with claws. But I figured that as long as she was audibly fighting, she was okay. She was breathing. She was moving. She was angry. Those were good signs. A pissed off Tuesday is a good thing. Jupiter came in, mewed for her, then jumped on top of the bed. I scratched his head. He purred reassuringly. I had to leave for work. I told him to watch over her.
I don't know what I'll find when I come home tonight. I hope to the gods she'll be on top of the bed, or in her shoebox under the windowsill, or down in the living room, or playing with Jupiter.
Hope with me?

hand in my throat: tuesday (cat)

Last night was bad. I tried to give Tuesday her asthma pill, wrapped in a treat, and instead of eating it, she backed off, smacked me, and hissed. I realized she was breathing heavily; her sides were heaving. I herded her up to my room and shut the door, hoping to coax her into taking the pill. She yelled at me and ran under the bureau. I knew something was wrong. But I couldn't do much, so I got ready for bed. At about 10:50, I looked down and saw Tuesday on the floor, on her side, half out from under the dresser, gasping. And, of course, I panicked. I called Adam, who told me to get Jason or Danny. Jason came up and picked Tuesday up off the floor (she protested with a strangled yowl) and we sat with her on the bed. I took out a pill, wrapped it in enough of a treat to cover it, and as Jason held her down, I tried to force it into her mouth. My hands were shaking. She scratched me. It was 11:00. We called Danny in. He got it down her throat; she bit through his thumb. We let her go. She stumbled toward the pillows and collapsed on her side, still gasping. We waited. It didn't look bad enough to warrent a drive to the emergency clinic, and the last time this happened, the pill took effect while Adam and I were driving to the clinic. So we waited. Jupiter came in and jumped on the bed, mewing. He looked at Tuesday, then began sniffing her and nuzzling her and licking her, something he'd never been able to do before. He settled in on a pillow and watched her. Occasionally he tried to bap her on the head but I swatted his paw. Jason and I stroked her and listened to her breathing. Her tongue went in and out, but did not hang out, which meant it wasn't life-threatening -- yet. We waited. At 11:30, Jason held her again and together we got a second pill down her throat. When we let her go, she went back toward the pillows and lay on her side. At 11:45, she sat up a little, then jumped weakly off the bed and crouched, meat-loaf style, on the floor between a nest of pillows, the bed, and the wall. Jason and I decided she was simply secluding herself so she could relax and heal. Jason went back to his room. I stayed awake until just after midnight, laying on the edge of the bed and watching Tuesday. When I reached down to pet her, she growled and ran under the bed. I didn't like that. There are plastic bins under the bed on that side that are heavy. I went on the other side and got on the floor and tried to see her in the dark. I saw a shape curled up next to the bins. There was no way I could reach her. I went to bed and slept deeply. When I woke up, I checked under the bed. That curled-up shape was still there. I didn't smell anything. I went around the bed and tried to move the bins to try and get her to move. When I checked again, the shape was gone. I went to the end of the bed and lifted the blankets. There she was, looking extremely pissed off. When I reached for her, she let out an enraged warning yowl that sounded a little strangled, and she swatted at me with claws. But I figured that as long as she was audibly fighting, she was okay. She was breathing. She was moving. She was angry. Those were good signs. A pissed off Tuesday is a good thing. Jupiter came in, mewed for her, then jumped on top of the bed. I scratched his head. He purred reassuringly. I had to leave for work. I told him to watch over her.
I don't know what I'll find when I come home tonight. I hope to the gods she'll be on top of the bed, or in her shoebox under the windowsill, or down in the living room, or playing with Jupiter.
Hope with me?

head-smack

This morning in my office I had bent down under the desk to get something and came up too soon. The top of my skull, on the right hand side, connected with the underside of the desk, bang. Six hours later, I am still a little dizzy, and my head hurts (especially the struck part), and my sinuses are throbbing. I'm tired (but I'm usually tired) and I'm restless and can't sit still, and there's a slight ringing in my ears. But I'm not concussed. No. Oh, I know how that feels. Concussions are annoying and bothersome. No, I just have a Minor Head Injury. It will go away. I forgot to get ice. I wonder if it matters. I promise if I feel worse I will tell someone. I should go get some ice now. I only have an hour left before I can go home, anyway. And I can think and move just fine.
I just really really hate banging my head on things.

head-smack

This morning in my office I had bent down under the desk to get something and came up too soon. The top of my skull, on the right hand side, connected with the underside of the desk, bang. Six hours later, I am still a little dizzy, and my head hurts (especially the struck part), and my sinuses are throbbing. I'm tired (but I'm usually tired) and I'm restless and can't sit still, and there's a slight ringing in my ears. But I'm not concussed. No. Oh, I know how that feels. Concussions are annoying and bothersome. No, I just have a Minor Head Injury. It will go away. I forgot to get ice. I wonder if it matters. I promise if I feel worse I will tell someone. I should go get some ice now. I only have an hour left before I can go home, anyway. And I can think and move just fine.
I just really really hate banging my head on things.

head-smack

This morning in my office I had bent down under the desk to get something and came up too soon. The top of my skull, on the right hand side, connected with the underside of the desk, bang. Six hours later, I am still a little dizzy, and my head hurts (especially the struck part), and my sinuses are throbbing. I'm tired (but I'm usually tired) and I'm restless and can't sit still, and there's a slight ringing in my ears. But I'm not concussed. No. Oh, I know how that feels. Concussions are annoying and bothersome. No, I just have a Minor Head Injury. It will go away. I forgot to get ice. I wonder if it matters. I promise if I feel worse I will tell someone. I should go get some ice now. I only have an hour left before I can go home, anyway. And I can think and move just fine.
I just really really hate banging my head on things.

F.I.N.E. and S.O.B.E.R.

If you know what these acronyms mean, congratulations, you understand the state of my mind right now.
Everything is fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional. Son of a bitch, everything's real.
Tuesday is back in the hospital, in critical condition with confirmed severe, severe asthma (the doctor's exact words). She had injections of the strongest steroids, she is in an oxygen chamber. They want to keep her overnight. When Danny and I went in back to say good night, she was sitting crouched on a blanket. She stared at us like she wanted to murder us. I warned the doctors that her natural state was irritated and pissy, and if she tried to claw their eyes out it was a good thing. They thanked me profusely for that, and the nurse hung a Caution sign on the chamber. It made me laugh.
I paid the $200 deposit, just like last time. And just like last time, the estimate to get her home will be between $400 and $500. It can be done, but it will put a severe dent in my ability to help pay for a new water heater. Adam says he should be able to help cover it.
My mind was in a bad bad place. I was having ugly thoughts. Was this pain and trauma worth it? Could we deal with this again? Should we bother? I have been crying. These are awful thoughts. But as Beca told me over the phone, I am only human. I can only do what is best. I do not want to see a loved animal suffer for my love. I shall expect the best and prepare for the worst. I believe Tuesday will be fine. But I know -- I know -- this will happen again. This will keep happening.
Gods damn it.
She's my baby. But....
Gods fucking damn it all.
Danny gave me a screwdriver. Small. Half orange juice, half vanilla vodka. I drank the entire thing in just a few swallows. Forgetful juice and delerium, as Danny says,
Oh. Hell.
Excuse me.
I think I am too drunk to type well.
I am drinking another screwdriver, though. S-l-o-w-l-y.

Forgetful and deleriously yours.

F.I.N.E. and S.O.B.E.R.

If you know what these acronyms mean, congratulations, you understand the state of my mind right now.
Everything is fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional. Son of a bitch, everything's real.
Tuesday is back in the hospital, in critical condition with confirmed severe, severe asthma (the doctor's exact words). She had injections of the strongest steroids, she is in an oxygen chamber. They want to keep her overnight. When Danny and I went in back to say good night, she was sitting crouched on a blanket. She stared at us like she wanted to murder us. I warned the doctors that her natural state was irritated and pissy, and if she tried to claw their eyes out it was a good thing. They thanked me profusely for that, and the nurse hung a Caution sign on the chamber. It made me laugh.
I paid the $200 deposit, just like last time. And just like last time, the estimate to get her home will be between $400 and $500. It can be done, but it will put a severe dent in my ability to help pay for a new water heater. Adam says he should be able to help cover it.
My mind was in a bad bad place. I was having ugly thoughts. Was this pain and trauma worth it? Could we deal with this again? Should we bother? I have been crying. These are awful thoughts. But as Beca told me over the phone, I am only human. I can only do what is best. I do not want to see a loved animal suffer for my love. I shall expect the best and prepare for the worst. I believe Tuesday will be fine. But I know -- I know -- this will happen again. This will keep happening.
Gods damn it.
She's my baby. But....
Gods fucking damn it all.
Danny gave me a screwdriver. Small. Half orange juice, half vanilla vodka. I drank the entire thing in just a few swallows. Forgetful juice and delerium, as Danny says,
Oh. Hell.
Excuse me.
I think I am too drunk to type well.
I am drinking another screwdriver, though. S-l-o-w-l-y.

Forgetful and deleriously yours.

F.I.N.E. and S.O.B.E.R.

If you know what these acronyms mean, congratulations, you understand the state of my mind right now.
Everything is fucked up, insecure, neurotic and emotional. Son of a bitch, everything's real.
Tuesday is back in the hospital, in critical condition with confirmed severe, severe asthma (the doctor's exact words). She had injections of the strongest steroids, she is in an oxygen chamber. They want to keep her overnight. When Danny and I went in back to say good night, she was sitting crouched on a blanket. She stared at us like she wanted to murder us. I warned the doctors that her natural state was irritated and pissy, and if she tried to claw their eyes out it was a good thing. They thanked me profusely for that, and the nurse hung a Caution sign on the chamber. It made me laugh.
I paid the $200 deposit, just like last time. And just like last time, the estimate to get her home will be between $400 and $500. It can be done, but it will put a severe dent in my ability to help pay for a new water heater. Adam says he should be able to help cover it.
My mind was in a bad bad place. I was having ugly thoughts. Was this pain and trauma worth it? Could we deal with this again? Should we bother? I have been crying. These are awful thoughts. But as Beca told me over the phone, I am only human. I can only do what is best. I do not want to see a loved animal suffer for my love. I shall expect the best and prepare for the worst. I believe Tuesday will be fine. But I know -- I know -- this will happen again. This will keep happening.
Gods damn it.
She's my baby. But....
Gods fucking damn it all.
Danny gave me a screwdriver. Small. Half orange juice, half vanilla vodka. I drank the entire thing in just a few swallows. Forgetful juice and delerium, as Danny says,
Oh. Hell.
Excuse me.
I think I am too drunk to type well.
I am drinking another screwdriver, though. S-l-o-w-l-y.

Forgetful and deleriously yours.