I’m a wreck. And most of it is not by my own doing – for once.
Yesterday started very well – always an ominous sign in my world. I met Amanda, my writing friend, and we had a lovely chat, mainly about our disillusionment with the self publishing thing and the virtues of a Labradoodle.
I arrived home to find Betsy parked on the front, back from the garage, and an excited Richard. The dear old soul is back on the road. Betsy not Richard. I felt quite emotional for him. It means a lot to him to have her up and running.
My little strawberry had ripened to the colour of blood and so I devoured it. I have to say it was beautiful. Just need a few more now.
And that concludes the good stuff. After this point the day went horrendously wrong.
Richard toddled off to work in Betsy to show his mates her fine lines and voluptuous curves and I sat down at the old laptop to catch up on stuff. I could still hear the old wreck chugging up the road for moments after he’d left. All that vibration will do wonders for his calcified shoulder!! After an hour or so I thought it was time to rest the buggered-up neck discs and decided to go into the garden to check what Chea was up to and to have a bit of a play with her. As I approached the pond I could hear the cacophony of demented blackbirds clacking their daft heads off. I used to think that blackbirds were clever little birds – not any more. They would attempt to build a nest on your head if you stood still long enough! They have truly been passed over in the brain department.
I found Chea hiding beneath the hostas, next to the summer-house, with parent blackbirds going berserk, crashing around in the apple tree, destroying the set apples and knocking over seed holders. I called Chea to me, not sure if she had a young blackbird, but she hadn’t. She crept out, tail low and swinging, wide-eyed and spooked to the heavens. I then noticed that she was salivating badly. Long strands of slobber and bubbles hung from her mouth and she didn’t look right. She followed me to the house and continued to ‘pool’ everywhere. My immediate thoughts were – she has been stung in her throat or she has inadvertently swallowed a slug pellet. I offered her some tuna – why do we do that? Think that food will cure all ills? I think I was working on the principle that if she could eat she hadn’t been stung and her throat wasn’t closing up? She ate the tuna but continued to salivate.
After ten minutes I decided I had to get her checked out so I rang the vet and told them I was on my way. As we sat in the waiting room I noticed that she had stopped slobbering and contemplated taking her home and saving myself £60 ish pounds but then I thought, no, best to get her checked over, what is money compared the well-being of an animal?
The vet looked about twelve but was pleasant enough. She examined Chea, who by the way, since she was spayed, hates with a passion the cat carrier and the vet. Nothing abnormal was detected and she seemed to have stopped slobbering. The vet then popped off to read-up about slug pellets and came back ten minutes later saying that she’d seen the senior vet and they recommended giving Chea a drug to make her vomit. Apparently she would be very sick until her belly was empty and then she would be drowsy and feel sorry for herself. Being one human being who often feels sorry for herself I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that. I questioned in my head, before voicing the thought, that why should she eat slug pellets now when they had been protecting the hostas for weeks and she hadn’t so far touched them? The vet, Hannah, said it was up to me and although she didn’t want to push me she had to because the window of one hour, in which to give the drug, was fast disappearing.
I looked at the vet. I looked at Chea. I cursed Richard for always being at work when I needed him. The facts were these; make Chea ill and miserable when the chances were she hadn’t eaten pellets or risk her liver and kidneys failing and her fitting. Do you know, I never realised how much I loved the little cat until I seemingly had her life in my hands. I asked the vet what she would do and she said she would make her sick but it was my call. My call. God!!
Chea, by this time was standing on the edge of the table pushing against me. Me! Her form of sanctuary. I looked at her, weighed up the evidence and said I didn’t want to make her sick and miserable just for the sake of it and that I was going to go with the theory that the blackbirds had upset her, freaked her out and possibly even attacked her. So I brought her home. Hannah said she was on call and if I needed her to ring. That was sweet. Especially as I’d gone against her advice.
When we arrived home, after a half-mile journey of Chea screaming and wailing her woes in the car, she started slobbering again. I almost took her straight back but frankly the ‘window of opportunity’ had long passed. I’d dithered in the consulting room for well over twenty minutes.
I gave her some more tuna, which she scoffed, and I watched her like a hawk. She chased the odd fly and had cuddles and rested a bit. She still looked freaked-out and seemed quite tired. I let her up into the bedroom so that I could keep an eye on her until Richard came in at 2.00 am. She jumped off the bed and went down to welcome him home and I shouted down and said to leave her downstairs. There was little point in explaining what had happened to Richard. At 2.00 am he is dead to the world.
She seems fine this morning. Frankly I was terrified that I had made the wrong call. What if I should have made her ill to make her better? What if, in my infinite wisdom, I’d got it wrong? I guess you can only go on the evidence available at the time and your gut feeling? I was a wreck last night. Holding life and death in your hands is no joke. I just pray I was right and it was a case of stress salivation. I feel she should be showing other signs by now (if not last night) if it had been anything worse? One thing is for sure – Chea is NOT going out into the garden today without me trailing her. My nerves won’t take decisions like that. She hasn’t made any sign of wanting to go out so hopefully I’m right and it was the stupid blackbirds and she is now very wary of going out?
I am going to go and remove every slug pellet – just in case. The hostas are magnificent but if it is a toss-up between hostas or Chea …well, let the bloody slugs munch them …
Take care my lovelies x
PS WHAT!!! Chea has JUST appeared at the kitchen patio door! She has obviously let herself out of a bedroom window and I thought she was sleeping on the bed!! What the *uc* do I know?? She looks blooming!