foomart foomart

 Friday, May 18

Poor cat is miserable. She hates the syringe feeding as much as I do. The new pills don't seem to make her hungry, they just seem to make her cry more. She tolerates the fluids just fine, and catnip seems to distract her a bit. She came into my office when she knew I was eating chicken, and hung around under my chair like old times, but she didn't eat any of the bits I "accidentally" dropped, and realizing she couldn't do it seemed to depress her. She goes to the water dishes—there's one in every room—and sits there with her face right over the water, and just doesn't drink. Most of the time she just sits on the bed in toaster-cozy pose, glowering or sleeping. But she also gets moments of energy, goes out on the balcony or sits by the screen door or scratches on her post. And every time she does that I get all hopeful, every time she goes to her bowl or uses the litterbox or comes into the kitchen. But then she goes back to the bed and looks miserable. And then I have to bring her downstairs and force something into her. She doesn't fight, but it's pretty obvious she doesn't want it. She pukes up around one meal out of ten, so then we have to do an extra feeding an hour or two later, and she's still losing weight despite all this force feeding. The vet closes at 4:30 on Saturday and doesn't open again until Monday morning, and man, that stretch of time looks really long to me right now. I miss living in the country where you just let them out every day and maybe one day they don't come back. With her confined to this building I'm responsible for every minute of her life. When she sits by the door with all her instincts just wanting to go out and hide, I really wish I could let her. I don't know what to do. When do you know what to do?
10:32 PM

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