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Trials and tribulations

It's a bright, sunny, warm (not hot) day. Hope it stays that way, since we're hosting the joint Lois-Sandra-Sandra-Lois birthday dinner. My sister is exactly two years and eight days younger than me and we've been having a two-fer celebration for a few years now.

We've had quite the week with our felines. Beatrix Potter (the eldest at 12 years) decided to stop eating on Tuesday. Now, she is a bit of chunky monkey, but it's never good if there's yummy food in the dish and she turns up her pert little pink nose.

On Wednesday, we had the sad task of picking up all the cats' files from our vet Dr. Melanie's clinic. She's winding up the practice because she has the absolute worst form of pancreatic cancer. Cripes. It's just not fair, on so many levels.

We carted the files to Hanover and are now ensconced with the Hanover Veterinary Hospital where everyone has been very good and sympathetic.

Anyhow, back to Bea. We watched and waited, and finally got fed up with the not feeding on Thursday morning. We managed to get a late-morning appointment and had to do the pandemic routine of parking in the parking lot, calling from the car and having the vet tech fetch her into the clinic.

The bad news was that she was in stage three of four on the rotten kidney disease scale. The good news was that, with the careful care of wonderful people, a crapload of intravenous fluids, an overnight stay and a bill that would choke a horse, she bounced back by Friday late afternoon. Her creatinine levels went from well over 300 to less than 100 in one day!!!

She's still not 100 per cent - eating is, apparently, still kind of optional - but she's getting better.

The turmoil has, however, set almost everyone else off, except Hobbes, who's still chowing down like there's no tomorrow. The youngsters ate little (Wilma) to nothing (Fred) this morning. Calvin stopped yesterday, but seems to be back on the eating track today.

Fred has been dealing with the equivalent of a human head cold. That was last week's drama. He sneezes about 12 times in a row - so hard that he gets a little nose bleed. Then stops, thank goodness. When we had him checked, he had no temperature and everything else seemed to be fine.

Dr. MacDonald (who is a brand new vet) is careful about prescribing antibiotics (which don't work on viruses anyway), so advised us to just keep an eye on him. Well, up to today, he was doing well, aside from the sneezing. But he, too, is now off his feed. As is Wilma, for some completely unknown reason other than her buddy is on a hunger strike.

It seems like it never rains but it pours when it comes to the felines getting sick. Makes me appreciate even more the routine, regular, no-surprises days when everything is normal and we're all fine.

We'll get through this, which is more than I can say for the state of the world right now. The U.S. is in particularly rough shape with the orange peril at the helm.

Anyway, we'll keep trucking along at the farmette, tending to our feline family and getting through whatever else we have to. Until next week.


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