Motherhood of Guilt

      I write this morning feeling like a guilty mom.  Poor Hermione– after I teased about her ribbon-eating escapade– is quite sick.  It started in earnest after church yesterday.  I knew how she felt.  I remember all too well hanging over the toilet, limp as a rag, just wanting to die.  After several bouts of vomiting, me holding the tiny little frame that lies beneath that ten lbs. of fur, she sort of curled up in odd places for the remainder of the day, refusing to eat or drink.  By 4:00 in the afternoon I knew I’d better get to the petstore and talk to a vet.  They sold me a product to loosen her stool and said to watch her overnight.  I was up at 1:00 and 4:00 and 6:00 checking on her.  I tried to force-feed some water as I’m concerned about dehydration.  She grew furious as I once again poked my finger into her mouth, loaded with the sticky, foul-smelling fur-ball product.  I placed her on the bathroom counter and dropped water into her mouth, although probably not enough to save a tiny bird, let alone a ten lb. cat. 
     I’m hoping that her recent interest in at least smelling the food (if not eating it); brushing against the water bowl (although not drinking it); and taking her usual spot behind the dining room blinds to look out the window at the neighbor’s dog and any birds that might wander onto the patio; I’m hoping those things indicate improvement.  I keep hoping she’ll jump into the litterbox which hasn’t been used in 24 hours and leave me the remainder of the red ribbon she ingested.  In fact, I am praying that happens soon.  If not, I guess we’re on our way to meeting a new vet out in Gilbert.  I’ll keep you posted. 

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