My life is so weird these days. I seriously don’t recognize it anymore—and that’s not really a bad thing. I’m now one of those people: the ones who do yoga, meditate, subscribe to healthy snack deliveries, work from home, use coconut oil in their hair, and feed their cat all-natural baby food.
Yep, baby food.
So, for the last few days, my cat has been vomiting. Constantly. She also stopped eating. When she did eat, it came right back up. It worried me right away because Squirt is normally a good eater. She throws up every so often, but it’s the usual kitty stuff. This was over and over. She didn’t even touch her “nummies” (wet food, in English). I fought with myself about taking her to the vet. I’m not made of money, guys. I mean, I write books for a living. It’s my favorite job, but it doesn’t allow me to drop hundreds of dollars on a vet trip—especially one that turns out to be totally unnecessary.
But I love this little fur ball as if I gave birth to her myself. She’s a pretty cool cat. She sits on the back of my chair while I write, and only lets me snuggle and huggle her. Everyone else, she’s sort of flippant about. She can be charming, though; even Mike, who is not a cat person, likes her enough to give her the occasional chin scratching.
So I made an appointment and took her in. I was glad I did. Her temperature was 103° F and she was super dehydrated (apparently even a little dehydration is very dangerous for cats). They ran a slew of tests, pumped her full of fluids, and took x-rays. We won’t know for sure what’s going on until tomorrow at the earliest, but for now she’s on a strict diet of baby food and Pedialyte.
Now that I have unveiled myself as a crazy cat lady and rambled for 300 words about how much I love my animal, I’m gonna take it a step further. I picked up a bunch of baby food flavors for her. She didn’t even touch the sweet peas. I put down a spoonful of turkey, though, and she devoured it. I have never been so overjoyed to watch a cat eat. Never. Anyway, before I put her dish down, I tried each flavor (mostly to make sure it wasn’t burning hot). Baby food, as it turns out, actually doesn’t taste bad (at least, the turkey, carrot, and sweet pea jars).
Are you still reading? Whew. That’s good. At least I have some readers left.
I’m extremely sensitive. Like, I fit under that annoying label of “Highly Sensitive Person.” (I say “annoying” because for a while, you couldn’t read anything without seeing the term HSP.) Like all buzz words and fads, though, it’s actually a real thing that affects real people. I’m one of those people. I can’t watch the news without crying—even if it’s good news. Other people’s moods transfer to me like sidewalk chalk onto bare feet. When I am happy, I am very happy; when I’m sad, I spiral down far and fast. I think the HSP is a symptom of my depression. I was always sensitive, even as a young child.
So, when I watched my cat eat for the first time in days, I cried. I sat down on the floor next to her, watching her eat with a huge smile on my face. I set a timer to give her another teaspoonful in an hour. And I considered setting that timer all throughout the night. I realized, sitting there, that I have nothing to worry about when it comes to parenting. If I can patiently scrub a cat’s vomit out of a carpet while feeling bad that she feels bad, pay a vet bill without blinking because I’d rather have a happy healthy kitty, and cry tears of joy when she starts getting better—then I can definitely handle children, depression and all.