Mar. 16th, 2010

thejunipertree: (Default)
I'm going to blow up the moon.

Baby is home, and wobbling all over the apartment in search of food. He's not even close to 100%, but I honestly and truly believe that I just spent a ridiculous amount of money because my little old man cat was fucking constipated.

Sure, we found nodules in his chest that are likely to be malignant, but what is that information going to really accomplish? If they are cancer, I'm not going to treat him for it. He's twenty-two years old, for Christ's sake. Twenty-three in June! How much would that treatment likely extend his life and what sort of quality would it be, at that point? I only want him to spend the rest of his limited days on this earth comfortable and happy and procuring as many belly rubs as possible. When the time comes, he will know it and so will I.

Tinker, on the other hand, seems to have hit a down patch. He stopped eating yesterday, didn't eat this morning, and only had a couple licks of food this evening when I came home from work. He's hiding from us again, currently ensconced in the Engineer's closet in the computer room as I write this. All of this is an enormous change from his behavior on Saturday, which I grew cautiously optimistic about. He was eating semi-decently and had even started being a little affectionate again. Now, it's like we're back to his behavior before the surgery. I have no idea what to think.

I'm calling the vet first thing in the morning and come hell or high water, I'm getting an appointment for some point that day. The office had called me on Friday, to see how he was recovering, and I had explained that he had been eating well, but that his personality had not come back yet. They told me to keep an eye on him and call if he doesn't bounce back in the next couple of days.

It's like they're deliberately conspiring to make me as crazy as possible or something. None of this make any sense whatsoever.


thejunipertree: (Default)

January 2011

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