Well, it's official....the Universe hates me. That's been the sort of running joke between Jeff and I lately. We say it to try to make a (poor) joke of the fact it seems every good thing that has ever happened to us is now being evened out on the bad scale and our poor Bubby is bearing the brunt of it all. This amazing little cat who greets me in the foyer every night when I come home from work with a squirm on the floor in anticipation of a belly rub not only has cancer, but a bad heart as well. Along with lymphoma (which seems to be on it's way to remission, thank Christ) she's got hypertrophic cardiomyopathy. I read about it online and I'm sorry but I haven't the energy to explain it all. She could be fine or not. Wait and see. Watch for symptoms of X Y and Z. In the meantime give her this pill everyday for the rest of her life. That makes two pills a day. Thank Christ (again) we found a way to trick her into eating her little pills without knowing it. I roll them in canned cat food then roll the little pill-laced, meatball in crushed crunchy cat treat. I then shake the treat bag to call Bubby and Feya for a snack. Bear never comes....fat as she is she doesn't eat treats and that shit is amazing considering she's fifteen pounds of cat. Meanwhile, eleven pound Feya and five and a half pound Bubby come running. I give each of them two but one of Bubby's is the pseudo-treat with meds. So far she's been eating them no problem. Jeff mentioned aloud yesterday what I'd been thinking ever since I got the shit news about her cancer nearly two weeks ago. She is too good and too special to be on this earth for very long. It makes me think of the line in Bladerunner about a candle that burns twice as bright only burns half as long.
All this stress has launched my nervous compulsive hair pulling into overdrive. I'm going to be bald by Christmas I'm sure and then people will think I'm the one having chemotherapy.