O is home.

Which is as much as can be said. It's been about 2 weeks. The nice lesbians 3 doors down, who are my new heroes, coaxed her out of the bushes and wrapped her in a towel and ran down to us in cream satin and lace slips to tell us that she was found.

No, this really happened. My street is mostly lesbians who know each other, so wandering about the street in bedclothes is hardly unusual. This wasn't some cat wandering home dream.

Because in the dreams where the cat reappears, she doesn't smell of fecal matter, her hindquarters aren't matted with it, and fleas haven't devoured her emaciated, anemic flesh. She isn't lethargic and pitiful. When we rush her immediately to the vet, she isn't put on an IV drip, and we can actually afford expensive blood cultures, and she doesn't have to choke down foul antibiotics and deworming medicine, and when I pick her up, blood doesn't, I repeat, DOES NOT leak from unmentionable places and splatter all over the nice teal-and-white tile floor. These things do not occur in dreams. In dreams, the little kittens catch little mice and make her proud, and nazis come out of the sky and wrap teffilin about their hands and O, my lil Odalisque, she marches down the street like a puss in jackboots.

She does not curl up miserably, too tired when we get home to crawl out of the carrier, and reek upstairs ignoring the food and water I have provided for her. Also in my dream, I am able to get off of my paltry 3 hour shift tonight, so I can administer her second IV and the rest of the antibiotics.

The other cats, both in dreaming and really, do mew piteously in concern, although in the Waking they are not allowed near her, for she is Ill.

Tomorrow morning we take her back, and they will see if she's absorbing the fluid okay, or if there's just... no point in trying anything else.

Why are cathaters $400? Why do I have to eat and re-connect our stupid phone? I hate priorites.

Anyway. In this case, we have a little magical silver Phantom of the Opera, the sweetest lap-cat tom in the world, who needs a home. Preferably someone to whom he can be a Familiar. He enjoys snuggling, having his ears stroked, singing, playing with everything he can find some way to convert into a toy, and sleeping curled up next to pretty girls.

No wonder I luv him so. He and I have much in common.

O, O, you tough old bitch. We'll get through this, like everything else.

<<agé chose>>

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