… to be broke & stressed, apparently.
it was confirmed today that my wee cat, who has been not very well for the past couple of weeks, has stones in her bladder. she needs surgery sooner rather than later, so she’s booked in first thing tomorrow morning for an operation which is fairly serious for a small animal, and which will cost somewhere in the region of £200-300. to add to that, the resident sock appreciator had already planned to spend tomorrow night with family (& complicated family circumstances mean that it’s not something she can postpone or cancel) so i’ll be left on my own to take the cat to the vet (sans car, so that’s always fun), worry all day about how she’s doing, & then cope with a restless dog, an unsettled cat (the ill cat’s littermate, who always gets upset when he’s without her) and a doped-up sick kitty with a bald belly full of stitches. oh, and i just got a cold.
here is what i will not be doing to help me cope with the next couple of days:
1. watching terrible movies while knitting until my hands cramp as an attempt to distract myself from cat-related worries
2. consuming my own body weight in chocolate, ice cream, & wine
3. convincing myself that said chocolate, ice cream, & wine is in fact an extremely healthy meal, but should perhaps be balanced out with the occasional plate of nachos (after all, salsa is a vegetable)
4. reading mystery novels when i can’t get to sleep, & then finding myself completely incapable of sleep because a) i’m alone in the house & b) i’m convinced that the slight creak of the heaters cooling down is in fact a murderous sociopath hiding under my floorboards, and the dog snoring in the next room is actually the aforementioned sociopath warming up his chainsaw
5. trying to figure out if i have to sell my sock yarn stash to fund the rather expensive cat operation
should be a fun few days, eh?
& yes, i know that it could be worse, and that other people have more serious worries, and she’s “just a cat”. but she’s just a cat who let me cuddle her during my (many & repeated) bouts of crying-for-no-reason in the year (or two, or three) after my dad died, & she didn’t even mind when her fur got a bit damp. & she’s just a cat whose ridiculous habit of falling asleep on her face causes her to produce the loudest snores i’ve ever heard from something so small, & never fails to make me smile. & she’s just a cat who loves me so much that her absolute favourite place in the entire world is my lap. & so she will never be “just a cat” to me. (she’s the one on the right)