Feces

DEATH has a soft spot for cats, HE stops by for each of the nine, so perhaps he gets to know them. Maybe cats get nine, because DEATH nudges them to ask for a little assistance. We felt HIS presence this week.



This is part of the problem with medical people, they go straight to worst case scenario, and say it out loud. I mentioned when I left yesterday what was going on with Moby to our anesthesiologist*, and he immediately sympathizes AND says, "He could die of that, you know!" Yes, yes I did, thanks. Hell, I've seen people die of bowel obstructions. Yup, all the nightmares in my head are firsthand and indelible.

Feces I have known.

So, yeah, this isn't drama. This is experience and instinct, and we both felt it. Passed by, now, and we felt that too.

Moby sat on D's lap this morning, just for a little while, and purred. For the first time in a week. After years of early morning sitting on D every day. I stroke his back, and his tail flips up, I do it again and again, until he looks at me, as if to say, "my tail's tired, please stop." I stop. Brush the slightly crusty fur on his tail later, which at first seems fine, but then he moangrrs. "Ok, that's enough for now." He has eaten a bit, his gut is working, it's obvious he's wrung out, wanting to resume normal operations, but the heating pad on the low chair is the best place to recover.



*He's the head of anesthesia there, foremost expert anywhere on nerve blocks, incredibly knowledgeable researcher, skilled at everything related to his work. Dreadful sense of humor, always there with the pun or song cue - often NSFW, even though he's at work. Conservative nutjob, switches the channel to FOX news all the time. Still, he hates Trump, but then he hates all politicians. Often hard to like, but I'd trust him with my life. Lover of animals and staunch protector of children.