It starts while I am on the phone with my son chatting about the wedding that we both attended over the weekend. I hear that awful cat wretching noise that means that somewhere, I have partially digested animal bits to clean up. Yes, Jack has left the remnants of his last meal up and down the basement steps and his lovely sister has participated by leaving a sympathy vomit on the porch. Yay!!
Fast forward to bedtime where Jack spends the entire night trying to snuggle as close as he possibly can to me and then wretches every hour with loud anguished dry heaves. Sympathetically, I push him off the bed each time anticipating sleeping in the mess but nothing appears and Jack returns cuddling his furry self up against me for the next round.
The doubt begins – Does he have something caught in his throat? Has he swallowed a needle left from hemming the wedding dress? Has he ingested one of the pins that he insists on pulling out of the pincushion and leaving on the floor? And the big question – Does he need to go to the vet? I have big to does at work in the morning and he is still eating and wanting to go out although he missed his morning ritual of attacking the bath mat and throwing himself against the tub while I shower so I decide to wait.
This morning he seems better but it’s the only window of opportunity to take him to the vet without sacrificing everything I own so off we go. You can see a picture of how happy he is about this up above.
The vet charges me $60 to tell me that he seems to be getting better (duh – didn’t I just say that?) and she can take an x-ray if we’d like (me and Jack, that is) to the tune of another $65 to see if there is pin or needle inside the cute kitty. “What will happen if we don’t?” I ask. Well, he’ll either get better or he’ll get sicker and we (me and the vet, that is) will know there is something there. “Let’s wait”, I reply and take Jack home. Upon release from the dreaded carrier, he runs out back and begins stalking chipmunks.
So far, so good!