Whatever you want.

Mr C has been letting me go HAM** on the cat.  Between moms death and my fuzzy familiar’s terminal illness, he might just be handling me with kid gloves.  That means not saying no to my outpouring of everything for the cat.  I mean I was, just last night, crying on the floor because I couldn’t call mom and I didn’t know what was best for the cat. 

So now the cat has a heated cat bed that he very much actually loves.  Mr C said he was even sleeping in it while I was at work.  I was about to type that the only reason I have a clear lap right now is that he is on that heated bed.  However, right as I began to type that he decided to get up and come see what I’m doing.  Now I’m awkwardly typing with his head resting on my wrist.

Mr C hasn’t complained about all the money I spent at the vet and on his medicine and special diet food.  I also got the old guy some stairs to get up on our bed.  And I cleaned off my night stand so he could have a heated pallet of blankets there. 

He took his fluids like a champ tonight.  He’s loaded up with fluids and electrolytes now.  I hope this stuff makes him feel better. I wish I could ask mom what she thinks is best. I’m sure I’ve gone overkill on the arthritis. And I don’t mind giving him the liquid pain killer. However shoving pills down his throat twice a day and giving him subcutaneous fluids seems so invasive. I don’t want him to be miserable. He doesn’t like taking the pills. Is it really for his own good or just for me, so he’ll live longer? That is what triggered my melt down last night. I gave him his medicine and told him I hope he’d feel better. And I wanted to tell mom that I hope they make him feel better. But… …I couldn’t. So I had a melt down instead.

**Interesting note.  I only learned exactly what HAM stood for recently.  “Hard As A Motherfucker.”  And now we know.