Overnight

Moby is staying overnight at the vet clinic. Two further enemas, and x-ray, fluids, laxatives and softeners, still more to come. So, he's been hiding this a while. Lotta fur, vet says, so despite his aversion to brushing, he will be brushed daily from now on. We are researching where to get poultry organs, will find butcher shops, find a manual meat grinder, and will learn to cook for our cats. Healthier for older kidneys. Better for both of them.

I asked the vet if they could keep him warm, and she promises to get him a heated blanket. What she thought was hip arthritis was probably just rocky stool, since the x-rays look pretty good.

Whole bunch of poop to come, though. Not that I object to cleaning up here, if he'd made a real mess last night and been fine, I would have just been happy for Moby. But given that he's better there, with another enema in the morning, pain meds, fluids, then it's much more straightforward for them to clean. Clinics are better set up to mop shit. I've done my share, and I'd rather do it in a hospital than in a home.

I know shit. It helps if the surfaces are non-porous. Shaving cream works a treat to clean it off. I have shit stories I will not share, lest I give you nightmares. Although the smell of sick shit is unmistakable.

Full house at work, and a sick-call, so I ran and ran, wound up giving four lunches

D got Moby to the vet by cab, just like in Boston. We are well trained to be adaptable people. I have no words to explain how glad I am to have D to rely on. We hold each other, try to stay hopeful. Eleanor comes and sits on us when we are on the sofa, sticks like a burr while we are in bed. She loves us in her own way. And she misses Moby, who she also loves in her own way.

There is love at home, and the cats are full participants, in their own way, they know this. They feel it. How could they not?