Oh gawd my kitty is sick. She's very sick, actually, and is in the "take her to the vet 'cause she can't keep anything down" bucket. More accurately, she's in the "take her to the vet again 'cause now she's barfing stinky brown liquid and even though her bloodwork came back normal the pain in her gullet is not subsiding and she hasn't pooped in two days (though she didn't seem constipated) and GODS I just can. not. conceive of things going badly for her right now." bucket.
She'll need an exray tomorrow to find out if it's blockage or pancreatitis.
Maybe she'll need a few thousand dollars in surgery. Maybe not. Maybe just a few days of hydration and anti-vomit meds and a careful all-day-eyeball from the vet. Maybe she'll finally supervom this uber-hairball-del-diablo over the course of the night and will stop pretending she can hide behind the dust bunnies under my bedroom chair.
Gods. I can. not. deal.
Not with this.
So subject change.
Wasn't that abrupt? Yes. Very nice.
For my own medical purposes, the headache thing went away and the rest of the day was good as has been every day that followed thereafter. Just once last June, and now this one - little ophthalmic migraine (use either of those words in scrabble and you're in golden-town!). So that's a total of twice it's happened, and everyone I talk to says they're perfectly normal and benign until they're not and then you die. So that's comforting anyway.
Back to normal on that front. You know? and all my other medical stuff too - she said "GO!" and she meant it. She was right. I knew it. I went. I did the followup. Everything's fine. So two more checkups there and I'm officially free and bereft of the "probably not a pile of tumors but we don't know what it actually was, either". And that's comforting too. In its own sadistic little way. Two more checkups of "myeh" and I'm back to the "myeh" bucket and out of the "hunh, wtf" bucket. I'll never be back in the "whatevs" bucket, but let's face it: I gave that bucket up years ago. :)
Finally on the docket of things to address: Sandy. She's this big fat hurricane thingy that just spanked the crap out of Cuba and all the local news stations can say (through their gritted teeth, below their knitted brows, and over their icy white knuckles) is that we're likely all going to die in a blast of salty icewater mixed with dragons and the kinds of horrors that would keep Edgar Allen Poe up at night. And then there will be some flooding apparently.
So what they're saying is "get out and see the trees in their autumn splendor now". Because, clearly, after next week, we're boned.
Well Sandy, if you're gonna' come hang out with me up here in Virginia, you should know I'm tight with the Thunder god of my ancestors and he'll be right put out if you spoil too much of things around here. Things are plenty tense as it is and I do NOT intend to go to any more veterinary appointments while you're having your way with what's left of the local architecture. No Ma'am. You're welcome for a visit, to be sure. Just mind your manners. I gots to vote, too. You know?
I have a bunch of pals out here now, too. And they'd sure be grateful if you left their roofs un-smashed and their basements un-swamped and their electricity... well... on. Best not to be greedy, I know.
Now if you'll all excuse me, I have to go worry about my cat some more. My precious princess fluff-pants of joy, composed of butter and ribbons and rainbows. Please don't leave me yet, sweet kitty. We still need you.