October 3, 2011
Emily has been home from school since last Wednesday.
Whatever she has, a cold I suspect, has taken up residence in her immune weak corpus and rendered her almost completely incapable of anything beyond drinking ginger ale, munching soda crackers, and complaining about being sick thinking I was in a position to do something about it.
Again, unfair assumptions about the extent of my superpowers.
And believe me, if I had superpowers enough to magic her well, I'd do it.
In fact, I would have done it last week.
About five minutes after she announced she wasn't feeling well.
For the last five days, between the extended periods of laying in her bed, or Keith's as he has a cable tv in his room, she's been wandering around the house in her housecoat, clutching whichever cat she was able to lay her hands on, occasionally breaking long enough for a bath.
Being home sick has proven to be less entertaining than you would think.
However, it did enable her to observe what was going on around us.
Or the cats to be more specific.
While our cats are becoming more comfortable with one another, there are still some pockets of discomfort and distress among our feline companions.
In particular, between Dibley and Reilley.
Dibley and Goblet.
Jasper is still a kitten so he is completely immune to whether or not the other pets actually like him.
He really just doesn't care.
Which is probably good for him in the long run.
Friday evening, when the monsters-under-the-bed relocated to Em's room, there was some kerfuffle from the monsters about squatter's rights, rendering Reilley with a swollen joint just above one of his front paws.
Over the course of the weekend, he's just not been himself.
No chatting.
No running into my room to join girl time with me and Em, adding his two cents to our conversations as he has done since as long as I can remember.
Em moving him from bed to litter box to food bowl to water to coffee cream container.
Meaning this morning, at 7.00 am I was on the phone with the vet begging and pleading for an appointment today.
I can't take watching him in misery any longer.
Viewing a shadow of his former self in each and every encounter we have.
Plus, Em hasn't exactly been her usual, miserable self while sick.
She's been a hyper-focused of her usual miserable self while sick because she's in a frantic state about Reilley's misery.
In thirty minutes, Reilley warmly ensconced in his cat carrier complete with Emily-smelling old shirts, crate resting comfortably on Em's lap, Keith in the backseat for dropping-off-at-the-university purposes.
I am hoping that it's just sprained.
Not like when Tikka shattered all the bones in her front foot and had to have a cast for six weeks.
Six weeks wherein her cast covered paw was covered with an IV bag and she wasn't supposed to go outside for anything other than relieving herself.
It was a very, very long six weeks with Stephen and Tikka trapped in the house.
Both lasted about three weeks.
And then Tikka and the IV bag, along with Stephen, were taking walks each and everyday.
Good thing.
Otherwise I may have had to force them outside for playtime.
Reilley needs painkillers and time.
Only one of which we can provide without the exorbitant financial intervention of the vet.
Boo Haa.
Who needs groceries.
Em will indeed be returning to school tomorrow.
For no other reason than I need to protect whatever sanity I have left.
Which, admittedly, isn't much.
To ease her, slowly, into re-engaging with the mass public, she is attending her driver's ed, in-car instruction this evening.
From 3.45 to 6.45 she'll be behind the wheel of someone else's car, learning to reconnect with the world outside of the confines of our home.
I'll be at home.
Stephen at work, Keith at work, Em behind the wheel of someone's car.
And me. . .
Wallowing in the blissful silence of our happy home.
Outside of the monsters-who-will-probably-come-out-from-under-the-bed to cavort in the expanse of the house, it'll be a lovely, Dawne-only, incredibly rare, time.
All the time while I nurse the pain-addled Reilley back to his former self.
At least until Em returns home and take control.
Because she will.
He is her cat afterall.
Maternal instinct.
It's a powerful thing.
Title Lyric: Home Sick Home by Faith No More
No comments:
Post a Comment